Old Mantle, New Mission
by StrangerInAStrangeWorld
Summary: The world of superheroes is a masquerade where everyone has something to hide. When an Atlantean girl becomes the new Aquagirl, it appears to everyone as if she's fine: clean past, training, motivation. There's only a minor problem: she's hiding the most of anyone, intending to pursue Kaldur even if it costs her her life. Will she succeed? Currently on hiatus.
1. Proposal and Preparations

_This little blurb at the top? It's only here so I can point out how absolutely annoying the disclaimers most people put here are. We're on freaking Fanfiction, the site created specifically so people could create stories based on other people's works. Anyone with half a brain can tell that you don't own the show/movie/game/book/whatever, so stop chattering on and on about it. Now, on with the show!_

**Third-person POV**

Batman stood in front of a computer screen, the harsh light throwing his features into stark contrast. As usual, the Dark Knight wore an expression that gave no clue as to his thoughts. On the screen, the image of an Atlantean girl shone. He studied her, assessing her strengths and weaknesses as members of the Bat-family are wont to do.

"And you think she can make it on the team, Aquaman?" Batman asked. "You haven't even allowed her on the surface world yet."

Hesitancy was clear from the other end of his comm link. "I think that this is the wisest course of action for dealing with Morgan'auli. Her family confided to me that she had stated that she would go to the surface world whether I condoned it or not. Mera teaches her class on Combat Magic and says that Morgan'auli would not rashly make such a decision."

Batman was silent for a second. "There are guards in Atlantis. Surely they could make sure that one teenage girl stays where she should be."

"She is convinced that she belongs up here and that fighting crime—or 'cleansing pollutants' as she puts it—is the right path. She knows—as everyone here knows—the fate of the previous Aquagirl, and the risks that come with the mantle. I am reluctant to let a person of such conviction and training go to waste, and Morgan"—he shortens the name for convenience—" does not seem to be the type to follow anyone's orders if she is truly set on something. I would rather avoid the possibility that she hurt herself trying to leave. Besides, she is of age."

Batman grunted. "I'll send Miss Martian to Atlantis for a test of her combat abilities, but I cannot promise anything more."

Aquaman nods, then remembers that Batman can't actually see him. Or maybe he can, one never knows with Bat-people. "Understood. Aquaman-" The ruler of Atlantis suddenly registers the lack of noise from the other end of the comm link. Looks as if Batman's managed to calculate the closest time he could hang up by without missing needed information. He sighs. "-out."

**First-person POV**

I stand before a mirror, trying to psych myself up before I go to the surface world for the first time. What will it be like, feeling sunlight dance on my black hair and pulling light, intangible air into my lungs instead of cool water over my gills? Confined to placing one foot in front of the other on the ground instead of using my whole body to dart above the floor? My king, brazenly addressed by the name Aquaman and not by the title of King above the waves, says that it is very different from Atlantis. But I know little of the surface world beyond the rudimentary education we received in school.

I finger the smooth white surface of my water bearers nervously. My king has given these tools to me. They are intended to carry water so that I may use it as a weapon in the absence of a body of water. A thoughtful and generous gift from my king and mentor. I cannot help feeling that I do not deserve this chance to be a hero, nor these weapons and my new uniform: a sleeveless, light green-blue top with two thin black stripes on either side of my torso, a belt with an "A" glyph on it, and navy pants. So similar to the Aqualad uniform…

Aqualad. Though I have hidden it from my king, lest he or others deem it a petty reason to travel to the surface world, Kaldur'ahm's disappearance from Atlantis is my true motivator for this journey. It has been 5 years, 10 months, and 19 days since he joined a team of young heroes, mentored by the Justice League and nicknamed Young Justice. Then, I was a student of thirteen years, though I had been in Kaldur'ahm's class before he left. I was comparatively immature in those days, for an Atlantean, admiring his calm from a distance. One day after his departure, I was practicing my sorcerous skills when I saw him again, clad in his Aqualad uniform. I challenged him to a duel for the fun of it, and we caught up on old times. I learned that despite his absence from the Conservatory, Kaldur'ahm far outstripped me in combat, but also observed that his magical abilities were not keeping pace. I offered to teach him some tricks if he would give me some pointers on battle, and my former classmate agreed. We met regularly after that, or as regularly as is possible when the other person must return to the surface to fight those who would pollute that world with evil. Kaldur'ahm taught me maturity and the ability to be stoic, and I could never really say that I taught him anything more than the most recent incantation my instructors had shown my class. Over time, I grew to love him, while worrying that I was too weak and worthless to ever be in his league. I pushed myself harder after that, letting my studies consume me.

And then he vanished. I thought at first that he was just on a mission that was longer than normal. When my queen stopped telling us stories of her husband and his protégé's missions during Combat Sorcery, I began to fear that Kaldur, the name I thought of him by but would never dare address him, had died. And when there was no announcement made of my friend's death, I knew that something else was going on, a mystery that had to be solved. Someone—or something—had made Kaldur disappear.

I might tell my king that I wanted to fight evil and learn more of magic, but that is a lie. I head to the surface world today to find Kaldur'ahm.


	2. Speech and Saying Farewell

_Let all who still haven't managed to get it through their heads that fanfictions are by definition, based upon another's work, be reminded by this blurb. No one on owns the original piece, so stop over-explaining and clogging up the page with useless blocks of words! This has been a regularly scheduled announcement from your neighborhood AvarielArcher. Thank you._

**-I am a line break, continue with the story—**

I stand now with my king on a stage. Not quite a stage, actually—these are the steps of the royal palace—but it may as well be with the audience we have. Hundreds and hundreds of Atlanteans have turned out today. Pureblood, sea-blood, all are gathered here to celebrate their common champion. I catch sight of my parents standing in the crowd. My queen Mera stands to the side, smiling softly as the young prince Arat'uran murmurs something to her.

My king steps forward.

"People of Poseidonis!" he calls. "Today, a new warrior will rise from the ocean depths! One of our own youth takes up the time-honored mantle of Aquagirl to bring Atlantean justice to the surface world!"

A deafening cheer roars from the multitude of people.

My king—Aquaman, as he bids me call him on duty—motions for me to take a step forward as well. I do, and he clasps my hand in his. We raise our arms together.

"May this be a day we never forget, a day when a champion of Atlantis is born!"

They cheer again. Aquaman releases me, and we lower our arms. My king looks at me expectantly, and I realize that I am supposed to say something.

I bow. I hear my queen mutter, "Ever polite," behind me.

"I cannot scry into the future, and say whether or not I will uphold the justice as I have sworn to. I cannot tell you that I will cleanse this world of every piece of pond scum who dares to cloud its waters."

I pause, then continue with a louder voice.

"But I _can_ say that I will do whatever is in my power to bring justice, and I would rather die than fail at my duty! And if I cannot remain true to my oath, or destroy the evil I am up against, then my comrades will fight on, and they _will_ uphold justice, and they _will_ defeat the evil! Whether I stray or not, all the world will know that the League has preserved justice. As my king has told me time and time again, it is together that we accomplish the greatest things, and alone that we falter and fail."

My voice is steady, and my bow afterwards is as deep as it can be. As if I had practiced it thousands of times, and not come up with the speech on the spur of the moment. Of course, I have. But that is not the point. The citizens of Poseidonis are inspired, united in this second as they hail me and my king.

We bow together, and leave for what I am told is called the zeta tube, designed to transport us to the surface world. My king types on it quickly for a second, and a disembodied female voice says,

"Access granted. Aquaman, A06. Recognized, Aquagirl, B11."

My king leads me towards the tube's mouth, and golden light surrounds us. Before it entirely consumes him, my king smiles at me proudly. I smile back. Today is the day.


	3. Surface World and Sleep

_It would be much appreciated someone was to give me a review. But hey, real writers write for the story's sake. So I guess that'll have to do for now_. _By the way, stuff in parentheses are my comments_.

**-I am a line break, continue with the story—**

I'm _dry_. I knew what being dry was, in theory, but this? This is so…different. So light and free. I suck in air through my nose and release it. Then I do it again. Weird, how I can't feel the currents of others moving around me, yet I am able to feel a coarse floor touching my feet. I look at my feet, awed by this sensation. I am _standing _on something, not floating above it. I take a small step forward, out of the Zeta tube. Walking, not swimming. Sinking, not floating.

I stand in a darkened room, white lights shining on the ceiling. No one else is around. Curious, but for now I push that aside, staring at my surroundings. Another Zeta tube is beside the one I have exited, and a few corridors lead away from this circular area. My king puts his hand on my shoulder.

"We should be quiet. The time difference is such that those here are sleeping, and I do not think it wise to wake Superboy up." He whispers.

I cock my head. "Who is-Oh. That Superboy."

Superboy, as I have been told, is one of my senior teammates, a part-human, part-Kryptonian clone of Superman. Invulnerable, incredibly strong, and gifted with infrared vision. Not one to be messed with.

My king chuckles. "Yes, _that_ Superboy. I will show you to your room, but after that, I must return to Atlantis. As much as I would like to stay here, my duty calls back home."

I nod and salute him. "No explanation is necessary, my king." Privately, I had hoped that he might stay. A somewhat ridiculous notion, true, but one I had held nonetheless.

"Aquaman." My king says. "It is best if you call me Aquaman while we are in the field."

"Pardon me, my king—Aquaman, I mean-, but why would we be in an open, grassy area? Are there not more criminals in the cities?"

He walks towards the corridor, and I trail after him.

"It is an expression that heroes in the surface world use to describe the time when they are fighting."

We stop in front of a room, and he opens the door. Inside, there is a rectangular pool of water, in addition to a desk and a bed.

"You should ask your new teammates to explain it to you in the morning."

My king raises a hand to me as he turns to go.

"Farewell, Morgan'auli."

I salute him, as a respectful subject should.

"Farewell, my king Aquaman."

When my king is gone, I set my bag on the ground by the desk and lie down on the bed. For about fifteen minutes, as near as I can tell, I toss and turn. This bed is too dry, too solid. It doesn't feel natural. Finally, I get up and slide into the water. Floating in the pool, which seems to be saltwater, I fall asleep quickly.

**-I am a line break, but this is the end of a chapter—**

Still trying to be the better man (better woman?) here and not refuse to update unless I get reviews. Well, this was a pretty short chapter. Did anyone notice that Aquagirl didn't close the door? There's going to be a problem involving that in the next chapter…


	4. Chapter Lacking an Alliterative Name

_It's yet another installment in _Old Mantle, New Mission. _Are you excited? Me neither, but I hope that someone enjoys this story regardless. Because I have common sense, I'm not going to have a knee-jerk "I don't own anything" reaction. The rating does not make me paranoid, and I have enough of a brain to know that fanfictions are based on the work of others. So, clearly, no writer on here owns anything. Not even the OC, since I have no copyright, license, trademark, or any other such thing concerning her._

**-I am a line break, continue with the story—**

I'm dimly aware that I'm dreaming, but it all makes sense somehow. I'm playing with one of my classmates—the amber-scaled mermaid Reh'hina-in the royal palace. In my dream state I don't realize that she shouldn't have three eyes, or pink hair. We're batting hard water orbs back and forth. I laugh, uncharacteristically high and shrill.

"She's dead! There's a dead body in here! NIGHTWING! M'GANN! SOMEONE!"

I look towards Reh'hina oddly. Something must be wrong with her voice—kelp in her throat, I think the expression is—because it sounds weirdly boyish and panicky. My classmate always did have a sweet voice, and we all envied her for it.

She isn't there when I look, but instead in my face, lunging for my throat. Delicate hands are suddenly powerful, gripping and shaking me.

Then I'm not there, in the eternally bright and glowing palace. There's a spear-brandishing purist reaching for me, hissing,

"Traitor! Traitor to your ancestors' pure blood! Die!"

The hate-twisted face is grinning maniacally. Blood roars in my ears. I'm powerless to defend myself, years of sorcery training and months of army drilling slipping from my mind. I fight to remember my training, surging upwards and out of my dream to grip my attacker by the throat.

"You will kill no more innocents, purist!" I screech. My attacker gasps for air and I realize that the person I'm strangling isn't a purist at all, but instead a green-skinned, furry boy. I startle and release him, falling backwards sputtering into the water. Incredulous, I stare at him. I have heard that surface-world customs seem strange and rude to Atlanteans, but this has to be one of the worst.

Just then, two people burst in behind him. One is a dark-skinned girl clad in yellow and black, and the other a masked, pale-skinned man with a blue bird on his chest. I squint at them, trying to remember. Then it clicks: they are my new teammates, Bumblebee and the leader…Blackwing, is it? No, Nightwing.

Bumblebee says something to the confused-looking boy, voice rising at the end in a question. He replies in the same fear-laden tone I heard in my dreams, stammering as he does so. She turns towards me and asks another question. I furrow my brow in confusion. I feel as if I should know what Bumblebee is trying to communicate, but I can't place the language.

Nightwing's eyes, covered by white lenses, narrow for a second before widening once more. He steps forwards and says, in surprisingly crisp Atlantean,

"Do you speak English, Aquagirl? You _are_ Aquagirl, correct?"

English! _That_ is the language they were using. I feel foolish as I clamber out of the pool and bow hurriedly.

"Ah—I apologize for not introducing myself immediately. I am Morgan'auli, titled Aquagirl on the surface world. Our meeting is pleasant, Bumblebee, Leader Nightwing, and…?" I hesitate, hoping that I have not inadvertently insulted everyone present.

"Beast Boy," the furry one says, giving me an odd look. "So… how are you not a dead body?"

"Beast Boy, our meeting is pleasant also. The ability to breathe underwater, it is an Atlantean trait. I was…sick of home, and chose to sleep in this pool instead." I tell him, fidgeting a bit under his curious gaze. Back home we would never be so open about finding someone strange, or fail to bow in return.

Bumblebee smiles at me, saying, "It was nice to meet you!" as she leaves, apparently satisfied. Nightwing breaks in.

"Point is, Gar, Aquagirl's not a dead body. You shouldn't wander into someone's room and wake them up."

"But she doesn't _look _Atlantean!" he blurts. "Morgan-whatsit doesn't have gills or tattoos or webbed fingers or waterbearers or—"

"We really need to get you some lessons on Atlantean physiology. Go eat your breakfast and take—Morgan, is it?—Morgan with you. I don't think you want to miss churros."

I keep my face placid as this Beast Boy leads me through the halls, chattering nonstop as he does, but inside I wonder how someone could be so insolent towards their superiors. He may be a child, but that is no excuse for failure to address someone by title instead of name, or using a disrespectful voice.

When we get to the kitchen, a copper-skinned boy, who seems to be having a low and heated discussion with himself, is making some sort of confection topped with white powder. He glances up.

"Whoa, who's the chiquita?"

I bow again.

"Morgan'auli, titled Aquagirl. Our meeting is pleasant—" I search around in my head to guess his identity—"High-mee? I apologize for any offense I may have caused. " I cringe as I say his name, hoping that I have it right.

"I think you mean, 'Nice to meet you', but whatever. Nice to see that we have a new water guy on the team. I'm Blue Beetle—No, we are not investigating her! I bet Gar mentioned it, so shut up!" The teenager breaks off into another language, still tending to the food as he talks.

I glance towards Beast Boy, waiting to see if this is an odd occurrence. Evidently not, as he doesn't seem puzzled and starts rummaging through an upright, cold box for a jug of white liquid. My teammate sifts through the contents of the cupboards for a few minutes before coming to the table with glasses of the liquid.

"Nothing goes with churros like milk," Beast Boy explains.

"I apologize for my ignorance, Beast Boy, but what is this milk?" I inquire.

"You know, the stuff that comes out when you milk a cow? That milk?" I shake my head, and he continues, "It's safe to drink. For me anyways. Maybe it poisons Atlanteans, but I don't know." The purple-garbed boy talks on for a few more minutes, looking at me every so often to make sure I understand. I nod as if I'm listening.

A little while later, Blue Beetle approaches with a plate of the churros, I believe they are called, and his own glass. Pouring in some of the milk, he distributes two to Beast Boy and to himself, and offers me one. I select a small one, looking it over tentatively, and thank him.

I try some of the churro, finding it sweet and warm. Realizing that Beast Boy is staring at me, I smile politely.

"I am sorry for my rudeness, but did you say something, Beast Boy?"

The hyperactive boy nods emphatically.

"I said, why don't you have gills and webbing and waterbearers and stuff?"

I glance over at Blue Beetle, who appears to be poring over some brightly colored images, and reply,

"Many 'pure-blood' Atlanteans, as we are known, do not have visible gills or webbed digits, Beast Boy. As for my waterbearers, they are in my room with my sorcery books."

"Noted. Wait, you can do magic?! You should totally teach me some!"

I shake my head. "I am sorry, Beast Boy, but that is inadvisable. I am not particularly skilled at teaching, and my path of channeling magic is one rarely followed. You would do best seeking another."

We chat, or at least he talks at me, for a while longer. When I have cleared my dishes, I see that the glyph on my belt is glowing. My king must be summoning me.

I bow, apologizing for my departure, the equivalent of saying farewell for my culture, and leave. Touching my belt, my king's voice comes through.

"Aquagirl, I'll be at the Cave soon. I need to discuss something with you."

I nod, then remember he can't see me, and say, "Yes, my king Aquaman. I await you here."

**-This is a line break, but this is the end of a chapter—**

So, this is what happens when an Atlantean who appears more human than Aqualad leaves the door open and is discovered by a somewhat naïve shapeshifter. My personal headcanon is that Beast Boy hasn't had much experience with Aqualad and joined the team sometime after Tula and Garth died and left respectively. So, who saw "Satisfaction"? It was pretty amazing, I think. Hope you enjoyed!


	5. Seas and Swimming

_Hola, Salvete, Ohayo/Kon'nichiwa/Konbanwa, Ni hao, Bonjour, Salu, Ello-hay. I hope I've covered your language. If not, I apologize. Stupid American here, I don't know as many languages as I would like to know. Greetings to my fellow Eaglelanders, to the UK natives, Aussies, Filipinos, Jamaicans, Canadians...oh, enough with trying to address all the ethnicities I've found on the traffic graph. Greetings to all readers. I'll give my cursory statement about the obviousness of the lack of ownership any fanfic writer possesses. That was it, rather short this time. Forgive any spelling errors, as I am presently using an touch screen and am not skilled. Reviews and criticism welcome, but not necessary, and I am sorry for the long, long delay. Warning: Here there may be fish puns, and canon Atlantean slang. Minnow means a small, weak person, often a small child, akin to kiddies up here, for example. Shutting up now._

-**I am a mere line break, begin the long-awaited story-****_  
_**

I move as hastily and steadily as I can through the dull halls of Mount Justice, though I wince at my noisier-than-I-would-like feet slapping against the ground. I sincerely doubt that I will ever be a stealthy combatant, as Leader Nightwing is. Ninjas. I would never know if any member of Gotham's greatest squad of heroes were right in front of me wearing a coral-colored squid suit.

Much to my chagrin, my king has instructed me to study the walking patterns of my teammates and to ask for lessons-lessons!- if necessary. I am little better than a minnow compared to the people I will be fighting against. Worse, because at least a minnow won't flail around and look like a fool trying to fight against a clearly stronger foe.

_Weak!_, I think, catching myself just before I follow through with my desire to slam my now-clenched fist against the nearest wall. _Shouldn't be so helpless on land! I can barely walk and I-No, weakness is allowing myself to complain and look foolish to these barbarians. Strength is learning to overcome this flaw. _I inhale deeply, and exhale as if I'm trying to project a leviathan's electric breath. One repetition, then two, and I am fully calm again. Focus on your gait. Slide from step to step. A sequence, not a set of separate actions. Heel, ball, toes. Heel, ball, toes. Smooth motion.

My foot catches on a bulge of the carpet, and I stumble before recovering. I dig my nails into my wrist, letting the sharp pain distract me from my irritation, following my commander's advice. His mantra was: "Let pain in battle sharpen you, as hammers temper metal through force. It tells you that you are alive, and you are a warrior." I am no warrior here, but instead a weak, unproven sardine, one of many replaceable fighters.

I arrive in the Zeta tube room, appreciating its appearance in the daylight. The hum of electricity, faint but constant, sounds strange. According to my understanding of this technology, it should be much quieter. Perhaps a system I am not aware of uses such a power source.

Lost in my trivial thoughts, I realize that my king has arrived only when the robotic voice announces his name. I hurriedly salute as the pale yellow light condenses into his royal form.

"My king Aquaman," I say.

He graces me with a smile, inclining his blonde head towards me. Whatever the old legends may say about a curse accompanying golden hair, my king is as warm as a hot spring and his good motives as clear as shallow water. No, not so clear. He hides Kaldur's fate from me.

I force a small smile. "You wished to speak with me, my king?"

He nods. "The League has decided that it would be best for you to attend school on the surface world." Looking slightly sheepish, he adds, "They may, ah, have gotten that idea from me. I commented that you might have difficulty adjusting to surface life, and they chose this as a method to both acclimate you to this new culture and continue your education."

School? With these-these sea cows? I am sure that I will hate it there. No knowledge of the mystic arts, save for fairy tales and a few charlatans, no manners to speak of, no-Oh. I realize that my king is giving me a concerned look.

"Aquagirl?"

I salute again, letting the tradition of a clenched fist hide my irritation. "I will attend if you will it, my king." _With a mask of false politeness and a smile with gritted teeth, but I will attend._

He smiles at me. "It is well. I contacted you for another purpose as well, however. Zatanna will be supplementing your personal studies in surface sorcery. She is Zeta-ing to the Cave later today to assist you in making a glamour charm." Seeing my puzzled look, he clarifies, "A man named G. Gordon Godfrey is...stirring up resentment and fear of those who are different from baseline humans. Atlanteans, aliens, metahumans...none are immune to his hatemongering. It would be safer if you went to school under a false appearance in addition to a false identity. I believe that the League is forging papers and making arrangements for you now."

"As you wish, my king. Is there anything else you need for me to do?" I ask, forcing my gaze to stay on my king as my attention starts to stray.

"Please get to know your teammates. Participate in all of their activities. Teamwork can only be performed if you are part of the team." Orin says.

Abruptly, a crackling sound emanates from his belt. A masculine voice says, "Atom to Aquaman. We have a situation off the coast of north Japan. Some sort of ice woman calling herself..." A burst of static cuts him off.

"Understood. Zeta-ing to location now." My king replies. "I wish you the best in my absence, Morgan."

He turns to the keyboard by the tube and types quickly on it. Yellow light begins to shine and Aquaman steps in, raising a hand in farewell before the light consumes him.

"Aquaman, A06," the computer intones.

If I was sure of my ability to walk steadily, I would have stomped to the pool I had seen earlier. As it was, electricity was climbing up my arms, occasionally arcing outwards. I come to the pool and inhale deeply. Saltwater, and if my eyes are to be believed, a tunnel leads to the sea. Perfect. I stride-alright, I purposefully walk- over to and then down the white steps leading into the water.

It engulfs me, ever-shifting currents washing away my emotions. Making me calm, even as the world is changing around me. I swim hard and fast, muscles working, pumping, straining to carry me swiftly into the waiting ocean. I am truly alive. I am free.

I do not know for how long I swim. It does not feel as if I swim for a long time, nor a short time. It is just time, and my mind is crystal clear with the chill of winter water. I take the time to get a good look at my new home. A small town nearby, nothing of consequence. Dull, square buildings, lacking the light and color of my home. A small beach lies near the mountain. The mountain. It is great, and bleakly beautiful. Grey-brown, sheer rock rises into the sky, culminating in a craggy, though not snow-crowned, tip. Bone-bare trees grow around it, and dark water laps at its base, stretching out for as far as the eye can see. It is, on the surface, wholly natural. I feel not out of my depth, but at home. Maybe, if I have this place to escape to, I can endure school.

I smile broadly, and return to the Cave.

**-I am a line break, and this is the end of the story-**

****_So, Aquagirl has to go to school, and is not happy about it. On the bright side, she has the water to escape to every day. Too short? Too long? I don't know. But maybe you do, so give this review-hungry minnow some feedback. Feel free to tell me if I'm chum (the way La'gann, fishie we love to hate, defines it) or not. _


	6. Returns and Replacements

_Hey, look! Up at the top! It's a disclaimer! It's Robin in the rafters! It's...my customary blurb! So, I'm up to six reviews right now. Seven, really, but I used a review to tell whoever reads those about my updating schedule. Pretty much one every Friday evening. Enjoy my word-vomit, and tell me what you think. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to be writing a story here..._

**-I am a line break, begin the story-**

I surface in the pool reluctantly. I like uninhabited waters for their quiet. They are deep, and calm, and want nothing from you, unlike people. I can think, and drop the mask for once.

Atlantis is all about masks, you see. A magical mask hides our cities from those who want to destroy them. Our soldiers wear a sort of mask to guard their faces and project a strong, anonymous facade, as if behind every soldier there stands an army of identical warriors. A true sorceror wears a stoic mask to prevent foes from reading their moves, and to keep a handle on their own emotions. A sorceror with an unstable mind is one with unstable powers. Kings preserve a confident image for their people, even as the people wear masks themselves. Our deference to authorty, our hard work, our politeness, they let us maintain our reputations and power. Atlanteans can seem utterly polite to surface worlders, but among our own, we appear rude. I wonder if we have adapted to our ocean home too well. A placid, smooth surface, with life and storms beneath. This is the nature of our home, and of our people. Should we be like this? Perhaps I muse too much on this subject. Perhaps only I am like this; my mind has twisted into something cynical and dark, bent on prying apart the world and its inhabitants.

I wander through the halls for a time. It seems that my companions have left for other business at first. I soon return to my room, taking a few spell-books with me as I search for somewhere to practice. Somewhere quiet...I spot a staircase that, if my ears judge correctly, leads to water. I put a hand to the wall to steady myself, and head down. When I do, I am stunned to see what lies before me: towering holograms of heroes stand in a dark cave. My eyes skim over them swiftly. A dark-haired youth in what seems like a Robin costume, a tall man in blue, a beautiful blonde girl in green, and Tula of all people stand keeping watch in the cavern. Tula, my predecessor, who lost her life in another purist rebellion. Tula, my former schoolmate, whose unusual red hair earned her the nickname "Tula Crimson-crowned." _This is her legacy_, I realize. _I am the replacement for a heroine who died fighting for her crown. When I introduce myself, it is she who will clme to mind. Tula, the girl Kaldur loved, the one who didn't deserve him._

__I am jolted out of my thoughts as I realize that there are already people down here. A wiry boy in a Flash-like costume sits beside the blue-clad man's image, looking gloomy. A couple sits by the water. One, a redhead with emerald skin, is still and silent. Her boyfriend is softly talking at her, as if he is not being heard. _Miss Martian and La'gaan are paired?! That jerk got a suitor?!_

__La'gaan and I do not have an amiable history. Rather, he has a decidedly different way of going about life than I do. He is disrespectful and rash, far too willing to use his favorite technique of expansion in favor of more versatile magic. That seablood Atlantean boy's response after Tula's death was to ask my king for a position as his protege, instead of grieving. La'gaan is not worthy of the title of sorceror, I think. No one listens to an unassuming slip of a girl, after all, no matter how hard she may have worked to achieve classes with older pupils, so I keep quiet. I cannot change it, and my king would never agree.

I do not quite catch his murmurs as I approach the two.

"Commander Miss Martian, La'gaan." I bow. "I am Aquagirl, a new-"

La'gaan's head snaps up, red eyes narrowing. "Aquagirl? The real Aquagirl is dead, chum. Go back to your books. My angelfish hasn't been feeling well lately."

I glare but bow as respectfully as I can. "I apologize for my ignorance of your state, Commander Miss Martian. I wished only to greet you." I turn to leave.

"So long, chum. Let me know when you decide to give up the replacement goldfish act and go home to Atlantis. I'll be here, doing some good. Now go away."

I gape at him. "You-you-"

A reddish blur streaks over. When it skids to a stop, the blur reveals itself as the boy I saw by that blue man's hologram. "Yo! MM, LB, AG-"

AG? What kind of nickname is that, I wonder? Speedsters.

"Break it up," he continue smoothly on. Something about the goofy manner in which this one conducts himself seems halfhearted, quite unlike the typical persona my king warned me about before my arrival. "New and all! Can't mode her just yet, fishie. Wait for the bad capes and you won't even have to touch her."

I bow to him. "Morgan'auli, Aquagirl. Our meeting is pleasant. May I ask your identity?"

As La'gaan hustles Miss Martian away from us, shooting me a dirty glance, the boy prattles on.

"Impulse! I'm Flash's grandson from the future. Got that whole speedster thing going on; it's genetic. Nice to see fresh meat here!"

As I am wont to do, I tune him out for a while.

"...and I just sold my French wombat to Batman." Impulse gives me a look. "For one of those super-polite Atlanteans, you don't listen very well, do you?" He asks.

I flush scarlet. "I, ah, assumed you were telling a story. My king says that people of your bloodline tend to be somewhat odd."

He chuckles. "Not that odd!" My new acquaintance's stomach growls, and he frowns at it. "Been in here for only five hours! Shouldn't be that hungry yet, but oh well! Maybe I can steal some chips off of BB."

Just as soon as our conversation had started, it abruptly ends as Impulse zips off to find some food. Surface-worlders. I mentally roll my eyes and head up the stairs myself. Clearly, I must locate another practice spot.

**-I am a line break, and the story has ended-**

****_You like? No? I dunno, writer's block was starting to come on, and I'm very hungry. So forgive me of spelling mistakes and lackluster plot. Or, better yet, point it out to me! I love to hear from fresh meat like you._


	7. Superiority Complexes and Spells

_Salvete amici! I shall have mercy on my regulars and spare you the usual rant on "do not own" disclaimers. It's Zatanna's chapter, which I know you were looking forward to more than my snobby little Morgan. Oh, and my explanation for how Nightwing managed to come by a glamour charm for Artemis. See if you can spot it. Enjoy!_

**- I am a line break, begin the story-**

I stalk through the halls of Mount Justice. Or at least, I walk heavily and quickly. I try to soften my footsteps a bit. Think of the tides, Morgan'auli. Rolling in, crashing on the shore. Sliding out, leaving shells spinning in their wake. In and out, day and night. Calm.

Slowly my heart stops racing, and I have washed any traces of significant emotion from my face, but my heart is angry. How dare La'gann treat me like that? That impulsive, untalented, lazy sea sponge! Even if our Commander is distraught, that does not give him any-ugh! He cannot even bother to set a good example for the surface worlders. I had hoped, when my king gave me permission to be his apprentice, that I could observe La'gann's maturation. But no, he is even ruder than I recall.

I make my way to my room. It is not, perhaps, the best place to practice, being so close to the kitchen, but it will do. My book of Sumerian cantrips will be an adequate study for today, I think.

Lost in thought, my instincts are the only reason that I am able to twist out of the way of the woman in front of me. Jerking my mind back to my surroundings, I see a tall, rather buxom woman in front of me. As I stammer my apologies, making sure to give the salute for highly respected foreigners, I size her up. At a second glance, her height comes from the heels of her shoes, which compliment legs that appear to have fishnets, of all things, adorning them. A white cloth bow around her neck, form-fitting black skirt, and low-cut white shirt complete the alluring look. There is no doubt, then, about the person I have encountered: She is Zatanna Zatara, daughter of Doctor Fate's host, performing magician, and League member. I had expected somewhat more...modest attire from a sorcerer.

I plaster a smile onto my face, convincing enough that Zatanna smiles back. "I was lost in thought, Lady Zatanna. Please forgive my clumsiness."

"I'm no lady." Seeing my uneasy expression, the magician hastily continues, "But if you really want to, I don't think there's any harm. Certainly not to my ego!" She giggles, then becomes more serious. "The League will have already told you that I am going to be teaching you a bit of my craft and helping you with a glamour charm."

I have to learn from this woman, who dresses more like a concubine than a mage? Of course. But if she can teach me useful charms for the upcoming battle, I suppose that I can tolerate it. Honestly, could my king have chosen companions less suitable for an Atlantis-trained sorceror?

"Follow me to the libray, would you? I have the components for a glamour charm ready in there." Zatanna frowns. "I constructed some , as practice-I'm not accustomed to imprisoning magic in an object like that-, but I'm afraid that some were faulty and I returned to the aftermath of a miniature explosion. Never did find all the pieces..." She trails off.

I nod. "I understand entirely, Lady Zatanna. If I can be of assistance in any way, I am willing to do so."

My magical tutor smiles warmly at me. "That's what every teacher wants to hear, isn't it? Seems like every Atlantean I've ever known is good at making themselves useful. Orin's raised a bunch of diplomats." Zatanna laughs and holds the library door open for me.

I mask my horror. Doesn't she know that the youngest person should serve the older? About titles? This place never ceases to amaze me. I bow low to show my gratitude and, I think snarkily, to indicate that I forgive her sheer lack of manners. I should probably stop showing that courtesy, though. If I did it every time someone forgot how to behave, I'd be a hunchback.

We enter, and I momentarily forget my own manners as I see the trophies of war on a shelf. I run over to it, leaping over chalked pentagrams and burning candles in my haste. An eerie grinning mask, an arrow like the ones Green Arrow uses, a false eyeball, a crimson hood, a false hand, and more. In spite of myself, I have to think that they're very cool. Maybe I will add to them.

Sheepishly, I turn and bow apologetically. "I apologize for my haste. I have heard of these souvenirs, as I believe they are known. I was eager to see them firsthand."

Zatanna shrugs. "Nothing wrong with that. You didn't knock over any of the patterns, so it's fine. Let's get started."

We busy ourselves preparing the rituals, chalking more runes on the carpet, arranging books in various shapes. Zatanna stretches out her hands and chants, runes of green and blue fire leaping up without burning the floor. This fire, like those we have in Atlantis, gives off no smoke. Yet it does give off a feeling of dryness, sucking in the strength of those nearby. I take an instinctive step backwards. Fire is something that I, a child of shadow and water, really don't get along with. She chants for a while, making gestures every so often. Eventually she motions to me, a cue that I should strengthen the magic tailored to me. I take a deep breath and begin to speak in my native language,

"Veil of light and mist, descend! With the adornment of this pendant, hide my true face, and show another! Hair of ochre, eyes of ocean silt, form of woman, I call upon Apollo and Artemis for their lamps' light! Blend to shield my true nature from those who are not justice's champions. Illusion, as ocean's vapors, obscure the truth."

I stop, struggling for breath. Magic needs energy, and while Zatanna and the ritual's components had supplied much of it, I am not an extraordinarily powerful sorceror. The people of Atlantis, living in a land protected by magic, modified magically to survive, with students of magic defending their world, do have powers beyond the average human. Our homes are lit inside and out with magic, and it mixes with technology in our weapons. Of course we've picked up a bit. But my powers are the result of much study and creativity, not huge innate potential. I am no Chosen One, born with prophesied magical talent. I am a hard worker, that is all, and at times like these, I feel it.

There are four ways to possess great magical strength. You can be born with it. You can have it as a result of a major magical or tragic event; spirit energy can even be absorbed for extra strength at an early age, when magic is most malleable. You can receive it as a gift from a supernatural power or artifact, as with the Helmet of Fate. My method is to work at it, studying, developing unorthodox strategies for use, and testing myself in battle. It's slower and annoying, but necessary if you aren't the chosen of fate. I must make my own fate.

Zatanna takes over for a few minutes longer, and then the flames vanish. They don't flicker out, but are simply no longer there. The chalk and other components are gone as well. All that remains is a ncklace, aquamarine gemstone glittering. Zatanna grins at me as she retrieves it.

"You did well for your first time, Aquagirl. I don't suppose that you're an iilusionist, though."

I shake my head, ease of practice conjuring up a smile to hide my tired face. "I do not specialize in illusions, Lady Zatanna. My chosen spellcasting method is called...I believe that the best translation is chant-mage. I use imagery and verse to project my imagination on the world." I grin wryly. "It is one of the slower arts, but it fits me, Lady Zatanna." Pretty words and vivid pictures to make this dark and cruel world a little more bearable.

She makes her way over to me places it around my neck. Scrutinizing me, the magician seems to pronounce it satisfactory. "It'll hold up to anyone short of a very advanced wizard. And water." Zatanna sighs. "Water's your natural element, tied to your magic and weapons to boot, so if anything beyond a couple drops touches your skin, there goes the glamour."

I nod. "I understand, Lady Zatanna. Excuse me for the bother, but could I please borrow a mirror in which to see my reflection?"

She blinks. "The glamour will be kinda faint, but sure. Evig em a rorrim!"

A plain mirror appears in her hand, which she hands to me. "Knock yourself out."

I take it. "I could not have heard your words correctly. You wish me to be unconscious?"

Zatanna laughs nervously. "Please tell me you're kidding." The heroine pauses. "You aren't. Right. Not even Aqual-Tula was that bad with idioms. It just means to have fun with something. To go ahead with it."

Aqualad! My heart leaps for joy, then promptly sinks. Was. She said was. So his fate must remain uncertain even now.

I look in the mirror. Superimposed over my features, as when one looks through a window and sees their own reflection over the world outside, is the face of another girl. Skin more of a beige shade than my sun-lacking tone, eyes warm brown and hair curly brown. A more average-looking girl I have never seen, even on land where such variety is to be found. My eyes travel over this new person. I can feel the same features, and see them beneath the glamour, but...I pull the charm off of my neck in horror. It's bad enough, having to come onto land to find Kaldur, but having to look like a surface-monkey? This is unimaginable! This is...actually, you know what? Today could not get much worse. I have resigned myself to these injustices.

I bow stiffly to Zatanna. "I thank you for your work, Lady Zatanna. If you will excuse my departure, today's actions have fatigued me. Farewell."

As I leave, holding the door open for Zatanna, who is availing herself of the opportunity to leave as well, she says one last thing. "Hare, Morgan'auli." Farewell, Morgan'auli. I make a mental note to keep from commenting in Atlantean around her as well as Nightwing. Then I too depart, for the black oblivion of sleep.

**-I am a line break, ending the story-**

_So, how was this? I based Zatanna's Atlantean goodbye on Ancient Greek. Word of Greg says that the Atlantean in "Downtime" is based on Greek, and seeing how Atlantis fell a long time ago, I thought it appropriate to base it on the Ancient Greek goodbye I Googled. Xaire is apparently pronounced with an h sound, according to a Greek reviewer, so if you manage to track down anyone named Vera, thank her for me, please! I welcome all communication._


	8. Showers and Surprises

_Hey, mei amici! So, I do not really have much of a blurb for this chapter. I do have a question: Should I enter a chapter of this story in a fan fiction contest? I am rather unsure. Ah, well. Enjoy, and have a Merry Christmas! (Or whatever other holiday you celebrate, but it is the thought that counts and all)_

**-I am a line break, begin the story-**

I arise from sleep at a very early time. I would wager that it is dawn, but the lack of windows makes it exceedingly difficult to tell. The dust-coated alarm clock,by the equally dusty bed, rings shrilly. I heave myself out of the water, thanking Neptune for the fact that someone saw fit to put a rubbery mat in place of a rug on the bedroom floor.

I discover loose jeans and a muted yellow shirt sitting folded on the bed. Upon examination, they seem to be my size, intended for me. I blush crimson when I spy feminine undergarments included. I scoop up these new clothes, wondering dimly how whoever bought these knows my fittings, and check the wrinkled map of Mount Justice I have been using.

I locate the showers, which I understand to be tiled rooms that spray water upon those inside, as the showering person applies soap to his or her hair. One quick journey to the showers later and I am cleansed for the day. Folding my uniform, and strapping my waterbearers and sheaths to my back, I realize that I've left underwear in the shower room. Swearing softly in Atlantean, I head back and open the door to find a very naked, soaked Beast Boy holding up my underwear quizzically, then realizing whose it has to be. He turns to the door, perhaps to toss the underwear outside as sloppy people such as him are wont to do, and shrieks.

I yelp. "So sorry for my ignorance and immodesty, Beast Boy, so very, very sorry, I used the wrong shower, punish me as you like-" I shut up and avert my eyes.

Wet undergarments hit me in the chest and I flee, flushed all over. Great, just great. Now Beast Boy would think I was perverted, or stupid, or promiscuous. He is only a child!

I replace the lost article of clothing in my room. Then I go to the kitchen. Opening the cold box, I see a leftover churro sitting wrapped in a clear substance. I remove it and pour myself a glass of orange juice. Juice must be safe, right?

Five seconds later, I am gagging from the horrible combination of flavors. The sugary sweet churro and tart juice do not mix well. I eat and drink the two one at a time. As I finish, and stand to find the trash disposal, Beast Boy appears in the room, fur wet.

"Right beneath the sink," he says, not looking at me.

I decide that it would be best to grovel for him. "Please, Beast Boy, forgive me. Deliver any punishment you feel is appropriate to me." I drop to one knee and wait. As expected, my teammate has no idea what to make of this.

"I-it was an accident, no problem," he stammers. When I do not rise, he says, "I...forgive you then?"

I stand. "I thank you for tolerating my rudeness, Beast Boy. Right underneath the sink, you said?"

I throw away my trash and place my cup on the counter.

"If you will excuse me, I must practice my sorcery, Beast Boy." He grunts in response and I leave happily.

After a bit of looking, I find one of my spellbooks and head to the small, rocky beach I had seen yesterday. When I arrive, I sit down and spend some time meditating, purifying my mind of any distractions as I breathe in and out with the water. Finally, I clamber to my feet again and look at my spellbook. First up for practice: A Sumerian cantrip for launching boulders at the wielder's foes.

I take a wide, strong stance in the sand, or at least attempt to do so. The shifting sand does not help matters. Raising one hand up and making a sweeping gesture from a large stone sitting nearby towards the bay, I begin to chant:

_"Bones of the Earth, be borne by Earth's breath to my enemies. With your indomitable strength, O children of mountains, crush those who oppose me! I evoke your power and weight now!" _

The rock shudders and trembles, lifting off the ground a few feet and jerking briefly towards the ocean. It crashes back to the ground. Unfazed, I try again. And again, and again, each time chanting the words, picturing the effects, making the gesture. Soon my stomach growls with hunger, and my body screams for rest. The spell has nearly worked. I have the feeling one gets as they try to lift something heavy, muscles clenching and then succeeding. I can feel how close I am to learning it completely. One last time, I intone the words, and gesture just as the book says, and conjure up the image of what I want to happen in my mind. I am worn out and quite determined to make this work so I can have something to replenish my lost fuel. The rock seems to understand this, and it hovers a few feet above my head for a second before sailing into the water with a massive splash. The salty water is unusually refreshing, and I look at my hands briefly to see them clenched into fists with sheer irritation. So, I must have a stubborn mindset for this spell to work.

I wearily trudge back to my room, finding a scrap of paper and ink-filled instrument called a pen to make a note of this. Jamming it into the book, I depart from my room and have a lunch of tough, dried, and certainly salty meat bits from a bag left out om the table. A possibly-used glass filled with water washes it down, and I return to the sunshine for practice.

I do not know if I will ever get used to this feeling of being on dry land. Air was practically a vacuum compared to Poseidonis's depths, giving me a strangely unfettered sensation. Rough and smooth textures all at once, feet pressing against solid ground and lungs processing oxygen instead of gills. How peculiar it would feel for a surface-ape, if one of them could survive a second in the sea, to travel underwater as I had traveled above it.

I practice the boulder charm more, and work on more spells. At the end of the day, sitting by the kitchen as my teammates babble and eat around me, I am satisfied for a job well done. Nothing pleases me more than acquiring new knowledge.

**-I am a line break, the story is ending-**

_What'd you think? Anything at all? I said that I would write and update on Friday evenings, and I did. As I said in the beginning, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all the citizens of !_


	9. Backstories and Bad Pizza

_Alright, I'll be gone for New Year's, but I wish everyone the best in 2013! Most of my family members have departed. In this installment, I think I will focus on Aquagirl's backstory. Happy to replace this chapter, if anyone thinks that it is just filler, but I would like to flesh her out beyond "snobby etiquette Nazi". Please, enjoy!_

**-I am a line break, begin the story-**

My teammates could be mistaken for regular children, except for perhaps La'gann and Beast Boy. But then you see Miss Martian laugh at a joke that only a telepath would comprehend, or a ripple of muscle that an ordinary boy would not have as Robin reaches for a triangle of pizza. No, they are not ordinary.

Miss Martian is, by her uncle Martian Manhunter's admission, the most powerful telepath on the planet. Nightwing is a veteran hero, the first student of Batman and now the leader of a covert operations team. Blue Beetle is the successor of the first Blue Beetle, Ted Kord, and has stood against powerful foes. Even the overly exuberant Wonder Girl has gone toe to toe with villains like Devastation.

So where do I fit in among their number? I am a girl from Atlantis, born and raised in Poseidonis by my mother, Na'haleth, and my father, Sharil. I suffered no tragic past to inspire me to greatness, having a happy childhood. I grew up swimming among the colorful, magic-laced domes of Atlantis, hearing stories of the surface world from my parents. They told me of dry sands and lush forests, of barbaric warfare and great heroes. Our legends might have spoken about mythical beasts and fabulous treasures, but my ears heard only the tales of a dry world. It was a place where sorcery was forgotten and the extraordinary was both lusted for and rejected. I feared and marveled at it.

But I was content to live beneath the thundering waves then. All I wanted was to study at the royal conservatory, to learn mystic secrets and power. I sought the possibilities that magic offered me. I could bend the currents to my will, heal grave wounds, shape myself as another. I could defeat those whose presence was a cancer to society, and in my childish heart I desired to make it so that no man could hold power over me. How ironic, that it was my study there that would lead me to the first person I ever loved beyond the familial and societal relationships I had.

I entered the conservatory as a fresh-faced girl of ten, as most prospective students do. We were ordered to demonstrate our powers as a test to get in. One boy constructed a serpent of water around himself. The girl beside me cast the miniature, yet detailed illusion of the royal palace. That girl, Sardas'ri became my best friend and was declared to have the most potential in our group. My contribution, chilling the water around my fingers into icy claws, was deemed, "Passable." I have never forgotten the dismissive, bored expression on the instructor's face. I resolved on the spot to never be considered merely "passable", showing the man a very real smile, born of my hope for the future.

From that point onwards, I practiced my spells whenever I could, sometimes forgoing small pleasures such as games in favor of study. I went beyond the few cantrips we learned in our classes, to sorcery beyond my own year. It was exhausting, and painful, but eventually worthwhile, I think. I was moved up to a significantly more advanced class. It was in my Combat Sorcery class that I first met Kaldur'ahm. All the students, and the teacher, my queen Mera, introduced themselves to me as a matter of courtesy. I introduced myself, name, age, and title, then my classmates did the same, and finally my queen. We consider it polite to give ages and titles during introduction, in order to decide the level of politeness used in conversation and customs. I was the youngest, and least important, in that class. Yet when Kaldur greeted me with a genuinely warm smile, and a smooth introduction, I felt as if I mattered.

I admired him respectfully at first, from a distance. When Kaldur became Aqualad, I was saddened and overjoyed at once. He would depart for the surface world, but was also doing something noble for our homeland. A little seed of jealousy planted itself in my heart when he left. Surely Kaldur would court and be courted by older, stronger, more beautiful and accomplished women from dry land. Surely I would be nothing in comparison, just a childhood classmate who was only a student in Atlantis. Less than passable. More like pathetic.

I threw myself into my work, until one day, as I left my Combat Sorcery class, in which his friends Tula and Garth studied as well, I bumped into Kaldur. He was as gentlemanly as ever, but was clad in his Aqualad uniform and oddly melancholy. I greeted him happily, and we conversed a bit. I inquired about his mood, and my friend's wistful glance towards the departing Tula and Garth told me everything. He had clearly felt affection for Tula, but she and Garth were courting each other. I changed the subject to sorcerous studies, and somehow I ended up offering to tutor him a bit in exchange for combat lessons.

In retrospect, it was an unequal trade. I had much that was valuable above or below water to learn from Kaldur. There was little practical sorcery to be learned from me. I wonder if he ever used it. I think that he had taken pity on me, seeing that I was lonely and curious. Maybe Kaldur simply wanted a friend who understood Atlantean customs and culture. Will I ever know?

And then he vanished, without warning. People stopped talking about him, and my beloved Kaldur's mother and father, Sha'lain'a and Calvin Durham seemed to grieve. One day my queen Mera quietly approached me and informed me that Kaldur'ahm's name was not to be mentioned, out of respect for his parents. He vanished around the time that Tula, then Aquagirl, died fighting Black Manta. Garth chose the alias Tempest and went to the surface world as a hero, independent from my team. I realized that I loved Kaldur more than a simple friend would, and began to plan my departure from Atlantis.

I needed closure. I needed to know why a military funeral was not held, why it seemed as if my king and queen had erased him from existence. Many plans ran through my mind. Some were more logical, such as slipping past the guards and leaving. Others were less logical, such as forcing my king to tell me at knifepoint. The plans changed with my mood, sorrow bringing irrational plots, calm encouraging intelligent ones. Eventually I settled on my current one: win the annual competition of sorcerous skills, ask to become Aquagirl as my boon from the king, and secretly look for Kaldur on the surface world.

I think it unwise to outright ask my king. If he would conceal the circumstances of Kaldur's disappearance, what else would he do? Queen Mera only answered my questions concerning Aqualad's disappearance with an averted gaze and an request for me to focus on my studies instead. Politely, of course, so there was no way I could reasonably question my queen further. I had never fought to conceal my emotions more than at that moment.

When my king allowed me to become his protege, I was ecstatic. I slipped him a half-truth about wanting to learn surface magic and punish evil-doers. I recall phrasing it as "cleansing the world of those pollutants." An odd and specific phrasing such as that, carrying connotations of dedication and firm belief in doing right, is more convincing than a vague declaration about "protecting the innocent" in my mind. Miss Martian came to Poseidonis and, holding back greatly, dueled me to test my potential. Evidently she did not find me overly lacking in ability.

I finish my pizza and begin to clean up my teammates' dishes, mentally cursing the custom dictating that the lesser-ranking person serves those of higher rank. It unfortunately does apply to cleaning dishes, which I do. No one protests, seemingly happy to let someone else handle the mess. Glowing a soft, pale blue, my tattoos reappear as I activate my abilities to scrub the dishes. The thick, eel-like markings wind along my back and down my arms, ending on the backs of my hands. Once, spirals and spots, similar to those of the leopardfish, marked my body, but they have since changed in response to my resolution to find Kaldur. The tattoos given to sorcery students are as varied and mutable as the forms of water itself.

I bid farewell to my teammates by name, save for Robin, Batgirl, and Nightwing, who vanish so cleanly and silently that they may as well have never existed. Beast Boy stays the longest, commenting on my markings and manipulation of the water, demanding insolently that I shape it to suit his whims. I oblige him with gritted teeth until he finally leaves. When he does, I finish up and depart myself.

I swim out to the bay, using my affinity for the ocean to read its currents and find fish. I happily dine on those instead, having no stomach for pizza. A few applications of scalding water later and they are cooked right through. I give their bones and scales to the sea, murmuring the ritual words as I do so.

"Ye creatures given life in the water, return to its depths in death, having sustained the life of another," I say in Atlantean.

I can let these fish go so easily, but not people, nor affronts to my dignity and honor. How strange that is.

Returning to Mount Justice, I shower and don a soft, loose pair of green pants and a matching shirt. I dimly wonder who selected these for me as I settle into the surface-style bed. I brush off the dust from the clock and stare at the ceiling for a while. As sleep begins to overtake me, I realize that this must have once been Kaldur'ahm's room, explaining the dust and small pool in here. That breaks me out of sleep for a second, but I cannot resist its siren song for long.

I dream of Atlantis, and my love.

**-I am a line break, ending the story-**

_So, how do you like it? This chapter should have explained Morgan's life better than before. But please, point out its flaws to me! I love communication with readers. Have a happy new year!_


	10. Training and Toil

_Hey, it's my tenth chapter! Do I get an anniversary present? I suppose not, what with my lateness and all. I'll give a gift instead. If you are the first to review, I will review a story of your choice and write a haiku about it. Fair? I dunno. Read and review please!_

**-I am a line break, begin the story-**

I rise multiple times in the night, sleeping in this unfamiliar, constricting bed. Eventually I simply drag myself out of bed and enter the kitchen. Quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and Mount Justice's occasional creak. I snag a few oranges, apparently the fruits that produce the similarly named juice, and go to the beach.

This early, Happy Harbor, as I believe this town is named, looks less than joyful. Its forbidding beauty is displayed well. Fading stars of a chill blue shade glimmer in the dark, but slowly paling sky. The cold sand looks nearly grey as its grains rub against my feet, and the ocean is nigh-black. The town's more brightly colored, artificial constructs are dim in the distance.

I sit cross-legged upon a rock washed periodically by the crashing sea. I have brought along my water-bearers, and I lay them in front of me on the rock. Sea foam, spat out by the waves, hisses by my toes. I place my hands lightly upon the instruments, and begin to chant softly and swiftly. It is an incantation I have been working on for quite a time. I have already drawn on this idea for a modified binding spell, but I can feel that with a bit more practice, my elemental magic can work.

I close my eyes.

"I invoke the power, the cold of the great northern ice-walls. Draw upon the Arctic winds and spread their frozen touch as I will. From the heavens, I call upon Khione's diamonds. Freeze, shatter, fly!"

I focus my mind upon the water spiking into the air when it strikes the stone. Parts of it begin to freeze, until the water is something like slush. Knowing that this is not what I intended, I follow through anyway. One of the tenets of sorcery is to have utter faith in your decisions. Many beings who may as well have magic in their veins admire courage and confidence, making it an important part of setting up a contract with, or banishing, them. Following through even with a failed spell increases your knowledge of the casting's flaws. So I throw out my arm towards the empty ocean, fingers stiff. The slush, and few ice shards inside, leap towards the water, rejoining their warmer origins swiftly. I begin again.

It takes many tries, and the consumption of many oranges as fuel for my energy reserves, to make progress on it. I try picturing the water actually freezing, and subsequently breaking apart into jagged pieces, which helps some. When dawn breaks across the horizon, I leave my training area and shower. I give Beast Boy a smiling greeting as we cross paths, and one to Miss Martian and La'gann, her constant companion, and likely her courtship partner, by extension. I eat a better breakfast than oranges when I try some rings made of ground wheat and honey in a bowl of milk. Beast Boy insists that I have some, and I end up liking them when I try a handful to be polite. I am forced to consume some dark meat, made from cow-creatures. These beasts evidently provide a type of clothing material, drink, manual labor, and food, and have no relation to sea cows. How versatile their uses are!

A revolting liquid, called a protein shake, is forced down my throat. I am told that it is necessary to provide muscle for missions. I choke it down and go looking for the exercise area. I find weights, which I have to adjust. Only after I have practiced lifting them do I spot a notice that reminds users to stretch before exercise. I grimace and comply with warm-up drills from my Atlantean military days.

I shower again after completing my time, apparently mandatory, in that room. For much of the rest of the day, I practice my usage of the water-bearers, mainly weapon techniques, and several other spells. We have equally mandatory combat training when the Team members who were in school, including me, return. Dueling with punches and blocks, kicks and jumps, and even grappling, I am sore and happen to hold the record for least matches won: none.

Barbaric surface-worlders, with their ignorance of the arcane arts and repressive schools, if one can call them that. I am to be attending Grace Connard Carver High School as Morgan, a bastardized version of my name, Greenwood. I am supposed to be the daughter of an American businessman living in Greece, who sent me to school in these states. It will explain my light accent, and is backed up by my moderate grasp of Modern and Ancient Greek. My glamour charm gives me a surface-worlder appearance, and I pretend to be severely hydrophobic-ha! a hydrophobic Atlantean-to avoid water. My water-bearers are sealed into an umbrella for when it rains. My clothes are loose to aid in removal when I must wear only the uniform underneath. I have to wear terrible, restrictive shoes as well. As soon as I have reached Mount Justice each day, I plan to remove those shoes for some freedom.

My homework is simple. I have been placed in remedial classes to catch up on the curriculum. This also makes the English easier to read, alleviating any difficulties I might have with this infernal language. I complete and check over it.

I shower again. I could participate in less of the cleansing sessions, but the water is very pleasurable and my hygiene is important.

The Alpha and Beta Squads go on minor missions. I am pleased to note that the remaining people include La'gann, unworthy of a mission, and the ever-friendly Blue Beetle and Impulse. I am less pleased that I am among these others.

I eat a blessedly fish-containing dinner with them and do the dishes again. Following that, I sleep in the pool of my room, forgoing the bed for now. In time, I will acclimate.

All things in time...

**-I am a line break, ending the story-**

****_I officially apologize for my lateness. I have stayed up into the wee hours of the morning for this, so you had best be pleased with my handiwork. Good night/morning/afternoon/evening to you my friends!_


	11. Schooling and Sorcery

_No haikus for you, my readers. And I was so looking forward to writing one, too. Am I so unliked because I don't put worthless disclaimers on my stories? I'll experiment, then. Do I need to use less complex words? Make her seem more relatable? I'm trying to establish her as formal, and acting based on a formal education of English, so she doesn't use the more common words that would pop into our minds. Like pachyderm, the official term for an elephant, instead of, well, elephant. Eh, whatever._

_Note: None of this is owned by me, in any way. I can't draw worth beans, let alone animate, so that's obvious to anyone who knows me._

**-I am but a humble line break, beginning the story-**

I wake at dawn again and go through my usual morning routine. Brief spell practice, stretching, acrobatic training, weight-lifting, a shower, and leftover food picked out of the cold box. As my teammates would say it, a refrigerator. I hear La'gann's pachyderm-like footsteps coming down the hall, accompanied by Beast Boy's lighter steps. I force my thoughts to adjust, reminding myself that I should say "elephant-like" and not "pachyderm-like" if the situation arises for me to say that. Magic may hide my identity, but not my words. I greet them both with a perfectly constructed smile and bow, using the shapeshifter's title, though not La'gann's. As they procure breakfast, I leave.

I return to my room and gather the necessary supplies. Cloth attire slides over my armored uniform. My water-bearers are slid into an water shield-no, an umbrella- to be tied at my waist. I scowl as I force the pinching shoes over my feet. I do not need them, as Atlantean skin has developed a rougher, more durable texture than the rest of the human race, but, should I be asked to remove my shoes, I must have tangible ones to remove. These fragile clothes are worn for the same reason.

A thought comes to my mind. I am required to lose individuality for these surface-worlders to accept me. Amidst the turmoil caused by their foolish inability to accept that which is beyond their natural mediocrity, I must forgo the use of my inherent gifts, and act as average as them. I can do that. I once did, after a fashion.

Our military members wear matching suits of armor, crop their hair to the same short length, and the women bind their chests in battle. We mean to create the impression that no one fighter is key. It is not that Atlanteans believe that no one is special. We honor individual achievement when it improves society and makes the person strong. But when there is little to distinguish warriors from each other, it produces the illusion that we are many. When one falls, the rest are not thrown into chaos, but instead continue the battle. It appears to our foes that an identical soldier has replaced the fallen one.

I have grown my hair out since my stint in the military force. I meant to not cut it until Kaldur returned, but custom prevented that. Thus I did so after serving the required time, and tied enchanted ornaments into it. I am not decidedly feminine, continuing the practice of binding myself for convenience, but my braids serve as a marker in battle, and can assist me when I am out of power.

Enough about that. I should not spend time thinking of my hair, as silly maidens like Wonder Girl do. Regretfully, I do not pick up my usual charms to weave them into my hair, as I would normally. I tie my hair back and don the glamour charm, murmuring the trigger word, "Etavicta." It shudders into place around me.

I leave the room, shouldering my pack of school supplies. Beast Boy blinks at my illusion, but sees my true face a second later and relaxes. The face that I show to the world, at least. I bid them farewell and go to the Zeta tube. I type in the coordinates carefully and wait as it warms up. I then step into the golden light, feeling it wash over me and convert my molecules.

I feel nothing, hear nothing, and see nothing but light for the next few seconds. As I materialize inside a false out-of-order telephone booth, I shake pins and needles from my extremities. I plaster a fake smile on my face again and step out. I walk along the sidewalk until I come to the school. It is a squat building, compared to my former school. Brick and mortar and cement make it up. A few trees dot the grass.

I slip through the mindlessly milling students. One girl has been assigned to me as a guide for my first week here. Emily Grenadine, I believe her name is. She has earned no title, unlike me. One would think that these youth would try to earn their place more. Emily, who I note is a teak-skinned girl with a bright demeanor and chin-length hair, approaches me with a nervous smile. Evidently she has been warned of my presence.

"Hi, I'm Emily. The school wants me to show you around for your first week or so here." At least she, being of lesser status, introduces herself first. My respect for this surface-world girl rises. "Um, I kinda forgot your name..." Emily looks at me expectantly.

I catch myself, about to bow, and extend my hand instead. "I am Morgan Greenwood. Our meeting is-Nice to meet you, Emily."

She looks at me oddly. "Are you from around here? Not like an alien, I mean." Emily laughs nervously. "Like, from another country. They said you weren't American, I think."

The lie spills easily from my mouth. "My father is American. He works in Greece now, but he sent me here for schooling. I stay with my grandparents." My smile must seem a bit uncertain. I hope that I have not accidentally contradicted my assigned background.

Emily's eyes widen a bit. "That's cool. Can you say something in Greek?"

I could tell her any number of things. I could remark that I did not want to be here, or that I was lying, or about my true nature. "_Yassas," _I say. "That is a formal farewell."

"Well, I have to show you the lockers, so you'd better not be leaving." She tugs on my wrist. "Follow me!"

I extricate myself from her grasp and follow anyways. She does not seem to be so terrible, for an uncultured girl.

Emily leads me through the groups of students, who are themselves entering the school, greeting a few students on the way. We move through crowded, blue-grey tiled halls, and come to a set of grey metal "lockers". Consulting a slip of paper, she leads me to a specific one.

"The combination's 21-43-09." Emily whispers to me, and demonstrates. I note her exact method. She pops it open. "Dump your stuff in here and head to the office to get a schedule." My guide points down the hall. "Unless you're blind, it's pretty obvious."

I nod and hang my belongings in the locker. "I thank you, Emily. I will...see you around then?" I check in my head to make sure I have used the correct slang.

Emily grins and goes to her own locker. I thread my way through the crowd and locate the office. I go through the process of procuring my schedule. Memorizing the names, using proper titles, and confirming my identity. I must tone down my teenage impatience by the time the administrators have finished. I thank them for the paper copy and depart. Gathering the needed supplies, I go to my first class, called Homeroom. I am forced to introduce myself there to my teacher, Mr. Cho, and to my class.

School is lackluster. My remedial classes are near each other, and simple to find. I purchase my lunch with the account set up for me by the League. The food, a blend of meat on two wheat disks with the strange name of "Sloppy Joe", is mediocre. I long for clean, fresh fish.

I go to a physical education class, nicknamed Gym, which I understand to be shorthand for the Greek word gymnasium. My armor is thankfully shielded from view by the spell, and I put on athletic clothing. We run laps, stretch, and play a game called "Capture the Flag." Teams are randomly assigned at the beginning of the year, and are not changed. I am made to understand that my team rarely wins a match. It seems to be a diluted war game, and I strive to win, without exposing my training and innate Atlantean physical prowess. My teammates make no effort, and we lose. I steam about it for the rest of the day.

Returning to the Cave bogged down with work, I am deeply relieved. I use my time before the other school attendees return to do some of my work. When they do return, we spar in grueling physical tests. Nightwing says that his teaching is a blend of martial arts: aikido, karate, judo, jujitsu, tae kwon do, eskrima, and a few others he does not name, claiming he knows so many that it would be impractical to name them all. Zatanna arrives later and instructs me in magic. We cover an incantation that produces a jet of fire, and another one that summons a wall of force to knock back the enemy. I am very pleased to note that dry-land sorcery is versatile and a credit to the surface world.

After that, I follow my normal routine. I practice more of my own spells, shower, and finish my homework as I eat dinner with Impulse, Miss Martian, La'gann, and Superboy, who has been out of Mount Justice lately. Impulse finishes well before all of us and zips off. Between mouthfuls of these ramen noodles, which are remarkably delicious for such a cheap food, we discuss the Reach and what has been learned from the abductees. Miss Martian does not contribute to the discussion, save for a few sentences about the League's difficulty with public relations.

I clear the dishes and return to my room. I spend my time there reading a book of legends from Atlantis. They speak of our past history as a mystical center of the surface world, and are truly fascinating to read. I eventually am instructed to go to bed by Superboy, who pokes his head in, having only the decency to knock.

I rise and bow. "Yes, Superboy." I tell him. The imposing clone nods and leaves. I cleanse my teeth with my bristled toothbrush, coated with a special paste. Applying an ointment to my forehead to maintain clear skin, I rebind myself and fall into bed. My fatigue speeds me swiftly into dreams.

**-I am a line break, ending the story-**

****_Hope you're happy. I slaved away at the keyboard for quite a while to bring you this. Kidding. It was fun. Hope you enjoyed the new episode as much as I did. Hope to hear from you soon._


	12. Missions and Metahumans

_Hey! It's me, reporting in late because I was travelling yesterday and had no access to Internets. I went through my chapters recently to make them more palatable. Hope it worked. Enjoy. I am looking for a beta, if anyone is interested._

**-I am a line break, beginning the story-**

I wake and go through my morning routine, sans hair ornaments. The honeyed cereal, splashed with milk, serves as breakfast, in addition to the disgusting protein drink, and I get the taste out of my mind as I perform the necessary physical drills as well. Salty sweat replaces the bitter liquid's flavor, and one shower later, I prepare for school.

Nothing really happens there. Some curious students introduce themselves, a few asking me to say something in Greek. It irritates me after a while. I am given a summary of the school's cliques, and the teachers. My homeroom teacher gives more homework than the others, while the mathematics teacher is known for being unable to control his pupils. A new class has been intoduced on metahumans and the like, as we are supposed to know about how the superhuman abilities of these people have shaped the world. When I attend, the teacher, a young woman by the name of Cornelia Patrinelli, gives off the impression that we are to know how to resist them as well. Some very choice words spring to the tip of my tongue, and I bite them back. I am an ambassador of sorts to this country, and must act accordingly. It helps that Leader Nightwing and my king have emphasized passing unnoticed, or "flying under the radar", as the case may be.

I return to Mount Justice as soon as the imprisonment has finished. Toes freed and illusion dropped, I collapse on the couch after making sure that no one is around. Physically exhausted? No. Mentally? Yes. Keeping up pretenses and tolerating my fellow school attendees drains me. I hear Robin arrive and grimace. He knows something of formality, but the third student of Batman to fill that role is still a landwalker. Plus, Robin seems to be perpetually analyzing me when we speak.

I rise when he comes to this central room, and bow. "Greetings, Robin." I say to him.

Robin gives a slight smile. "Hey, Aquagirl. Homework done?"

I shake my head. "No, Robin. I will begin."

He snatches something from the refrigerator, a round, red fruit called an apple, and bites in. "If you want to, sure. I'm going to look for Gar and La'gann." The brightly clad youth trots off to do just that.

I reluctantly toil through my homework. English is my least favorite class. The pronouns and constantly broken rules may drive me insane before long. I can speak it, as my king insists on the language being part of our education, and helped me learn more before my arrival, but I wish it was not needed. My ears would be so much happier if my teammates understood and spoke Atlantean.

The aforementioned teammates trickle in one by one, and we are summoned to spar. I am placed aganst Beast Boy, who is younger and smaller than me, and more reliant on his abilities to boot. I barely manage to win against him, dropping the boy with a lucky sweep of the leg when he is off-balance. Pride floods throughg me, and I tamp it down. Minor success such as this does not require joy.

After that, everyone takes a shower. It is uncomfortable, to say the least, to see Miss Martian, Bumblebee, Batgirl, and my other female companions without clothing. I finish as quickly as possible before leaving.

Leader Nightwing is waiting in the computer room with Superboy and Mal, who is not actually known by a codename. I bow-greet them. They instruct me to stick around, and I do. The rest of the team files in shortly, and Nightwing pulls up images on the holographic screen. In a terse, clipped voice, he says,

"The Hall of Justice was attacked, as you all know, by an alien being of unknown origin. We were able to subdue the extraterrestrial. The Reach have taken him off of our hands. The robot with the alien was very high-tech, and set up a field barring entry and exit before it exploded. We think that, although the shield tech was not from Earth, the explosives were. Alpha, Beta, and Gamma Squads will be traveling to three seperate locations, where weapons dealers of that caliber are known to reside."

He taps the air, and a map of the world appears, three red dots blinking on the surface.

"Liechenstav is the current home of Dyna-Mite." A picture of a short-statured, balding man appears. "Despite the name, he is by no means harmless. Dyna-Mite supplied bombs to North Rhelasia before the two countries unified. Alpha is being sent here." The image and profile shrink and and relegated to the top of the screen.

"A small island off of England's coast is Mad Mod's lair." A red-headed, smirking man leers at us from the holographic screen. "He loathes the League, partly because the official headquarters are in America, which he is not exactly friendly towards." A wry almost-smile play over Nightwing's features. "Beta Squad is assigned here." This profile meets the same fate as its predecessor.

"Finally, Katie Kaboom. She works out of west Alaska." Now a pleasant-looking brunette smiles from the screen. "Not to be trifled with. Kaboom's a pyromaniac and violent as well. She doesn't always leave dirty work to her lackeys. Gammas are here."

Nightwing divides us into the squads. Judging from La'gann's reaction, this arrangement is normal. I do _not _want to work with him, and the feeling is mutual. He protests, while I am silent. Never did learn to accept decisions against him with grace. Besides, now is my chance to show him up a bit.

We go to the various Zeta tubes after collecting our equipment and stretching. It may seem peculiar, but as Impulse explains, it could be fatal to be too stiff to move swiftly.

The coordinates are dilligently programmed in by Mal, and we step in.

It isn't long before all my senses are awash in golden light.

**-I am a line break, ending the story-**

_Hope this was satisfactory. I had a lot of feels, despite missing the newest episode, so I spend more time than I should have on Tumblr and not writing. The usernames on there're atlanteanatheart and atlanteanfishsticks for my two blogs. Signing off now!_


	13. Chills and Combat

****_Screw this. My beta's been absent, so I'm just going to go ahead and post this chapter. I have divided her mission into two parts, because I have no idea how to write superhero missions at present. Enjoy._

**-I am a line break, beginning the story-**

Immediately, a cold wind strikes me in the face. I shudder. Atlanteans are not as sensitive to cold as we are to heat, but this temperature is far from pleasant.

The complaint is out of my mouth before I can catch it. "Why would the League ever choose to build a Zeta tube in this wasteland?" I grumble. I put the appropriate expression of shock across my features, some of it genuine, and hurriedly add, "Meaning no offense to this grand country, of course!"

La'gann snorts. "Can't handle the cold? Better toughen up quickly, minnow."

I shoot a sharp glance at him, body betraying me by shivering. He might have a point, but that was still rude. Turning away from him, I begin to survey our surroundings as Robin and Blue Beetle are doing. It is even harsher-looking than Mount Justice here. Brown-grey rock stretches upwards all around us, caked in snow and slick with ice. A green bird is soaring into the snowy sky. The landscape slopes downwards sharply, leading to an ice-ridden, black lake, a large island at the center. I see our destination upon that island, a large complex, very likely guarded. It hits me then that birds are not normally green, and I glance around, looking for Beast Boy. He is absent from our number, and I realize that the bird must be Beast Boy. I nearly smack myself in the forehead. I really need to learn to process this kind of information faster.

"There normally wouldn't be a tube here. Since the League got word that Katie Kaboom's set up shop here, they've built one so we could get here if she ever went on the warpath." Robin explains, clearly aware of the conversation between us. Seriously, do these members of the Bat-family, as Wonder Girl nicknamed them, have a bat's hearing? It's impossible to conceal anything if one of them is nearby. The lithe, black-haired boy glances towards the sky. "Beast Boy should be back from recon in three...two...one..."

The shapeshifter wheels around in the air, descending towards us in an almost casual, but quick way. Almost as if he was a real bird, but I suppose that Beast Boy would have learned something of a real animal's behavior by now. Beast Boy makes a sharp plunge in the last few meters, landing in his humanoid form in front of us.

"Man, the wind's cold up there! We shoulda brought Impulse; he coulda done recon in a couple seconds and no one would've known." The green preteen complains.

Robin and Blue Beetle make their way back towards the rest of the group. "Impulse is hardly stealthy, _ese," _Blue Beetle tells his friend. "Nightwing stuck him on Beta Squad 'cause that freaky British guy isn't really one for subtlety either. _We_ kinda need stealth."

That is most certainly true. From what I know, after the most recent operation against the Reach and LexCorp, Impulse and the volatile Arsenal compromised the mission, and Arsenal is rightfully in trouble with Nightwing as the instigator of the mistake. Impulse is simply a speedster, with no concept of anything resembling finesse or subtlety, and makes a poor covert operations agent. Which makes any sane person wonder why he was put on a covert team...

I shake the thought out of my head and enter stealth mode myself. I touch the glyph on my belt, which sends a wave of dark grey color out onto my uniform, turning a pewter color itself. Robin does not have or need an alternate color pattern, nor does the similarly muted La'gann. Beast Boy stays in other forms for much of the mission, and that color is inconspicuous enough, while Blue Beetle mutters something about needing a stealth suit, and his armor turns a duller shade of, obviously, blue.

At Robin's command, we pick our way carefully down the slope. I am deeply thankful for tough skin at this moment, what with the rough stone and patches of slick ice. Upon reaching the bottom, we are each given communicators.

"Very, very hard to hack," Robin says grimly. "With Miss Martian elsewhere, we make do with technology, and this frequency was worked on by yours truly and Nightwing."

"Noted!" Beast Boy chirps. He is unnaturally cheerful for the circumstances, I think to myself. Perhaps that is how he copes. The rest of us acknowledge him with curt nods and a whispered "_Si_" from Blue Beetle.

"La'gann, Aquagirl. You two will go to opposite ends of the island through the water and report back on the specific conditions there. _Do not _attack until I give the order. And take these." He hands over a small, clear bag with button-like devices inside. "Plant them on communication devices. Don't ask how they work-I'm not sure myself."

I nod and tie my bag around my neck. "As you wish, Leader Robin."

"If you say so, Rob. Those sons of manatees have it coming to them, though." La'gann cracks his knuckles. I can agree with him on that at least.

We slip into the water as quickly and quietly as possible. It is possibly the coldest I have ever swam in, but I refuse to let La'gann have that satisfaction. A little voice in my head wonders if he really hates me as much as I think, and I brush it aside. La'gann and I have not gotten along once during my stay here. He has to hate me. Right?  
'

I slide through the water, letting it carry away my thoughts until only Robin's commands remain. I will follow them just as a good soldier would. I come to one end of the island, poking my head just above water. I see a few armed guards with radios patrolling in a steady schedule, with decent cover. I hiss into the communicator, "There are guards with firearms and radios here. Concealment is good and they have a regular schedule." La'gann adds something similar to that effect.

Robin's voice crackles over the piece in my ear. "Good work. Plant the devices."

I think for a few seconds. A levitation spell will be necessary, and I run through my arsenal before deciding on one.

"Breath of the earth, be as a messenger to me now. Carry what I will to its destination." Short and sweet, and useful only for small objects within a short distance. I raise one hand out of the water and pull out one of said objects, blowing on it, The technology soars through the air and attaches itself to the radio. I move on to the other defenders I have seen, and La'gann and I wait for around fifteen more minutes, until Robin gives us the signal to go through with the plan.

The guards go down surprisingly easily, unprepared for Atlantean weaponry, which translates to water-swords and maces and brute strength. Within a few minutes I am concealed and breathing hard.

"Good work, minnows." Robin says. "Wait there now. The rest of us are moving in."

**- I am a line break, ending the story-**

****_Well, that's it for now. _


	14. Announcement and Angst

I personally hate author's notes. But I kinda have to leave one now. See, I haven't updated in a while. Life's been crazier than Bart on sugar, and I just haven't had the time. I even missed the most recent episode. My family and I are going away for the next week, with no WiFi at all. I'll survive, obviously, but I can't update.

I don't know if anyone even cares about this story. I don't know who reads it, what readers think about it, or why I apparently suck at writing. But I thought I'd put a note here.

-Stranger


	15. Bullets and Battles

_Well. It's my fourteenth chapter. Took me long enough. Sadly, I wasn't editing this forever. Life just kidnapped me for a while. I'm sure you know the feeling. I hope that my writing's adequate and someone will tell me what I'm lacking. I know I am._

**-I am a line break, begin the story-**

The background buzz of the communicators vanishes suddenly. I risk a glance around from my hiding spot. Nothing but snow and rock on the shore, and a slight ripple in the water. So they've either gained invisibility powers and it's the wind, or my teammates are in the water. The latter is a safe bet.

The feeling of not knowing something is particularly terrifying in battle. Not knowing what's happening to your friends, who might be waiting to cut you down, the feeling of being powerless despite being armed. It shakes me to the core, and I've served in war. There's no way to prepare for it.

I'm jolted out of my thoughts by Robin's voice, terse and tense as usual. "In position."

Beast Boy chirps- does he ever _not _chirp?- "Here."

"In position." Jaime says.

"Here as always." La'gann says sullenly.

A wave of relief washes over me, and I echo it aloud, reassuring myself more than anyone else. "I never doubted it, Leader Robin, Beast Boy." I whisper into the cold air, breath forming little clouds.

"Alright, let's move." Robin orders. "The base is at the northwest part of the island. We'll meet there. Use stealth whenever possible. Robin out."

We move through the island separately, occasionally encountering each other as we move towards the center. Beast Boy soars over us all, easily able to arrive at the destination. It isn't long before we hear a hushed, "I'm right outside the compound. There're more guards here. What should I-"

"Stay put. _Don't _get noticed." Robin breaks in. "And yes, I do think you need the reminder."

"I do not," Beast Boy grumbles.

"Do we really need to go over the Prague incident again?" The black-haired boy asks. I can picture him shaking his head in exasperation. Unfortunately, we are all deprived of seeing this, and Beast Boy reluctantly concedes.

"No..." He mutters.

"Then you're staying put and shutting up." Robin tells him.

After that, there isn't any more humor, just the almost business-like efficiency of travel and defeating any guards we run into- as few as possible, so that no one starts to wonder why they aren't responding to radio orders. Though with the remoteness of this hideout, I'd be surprised if patrols haven't become dull routine, not even requiring orders any more. Report in, walk the same path as you did a few hours ago, sign off.

As I duck beneath the swing of one guard, who has found that without a gun it is much harder to win, I swing upwards with one water-bearer, transformed into a warhammer. I thank Neptune with all the breath left in me for the fact that these weapons have so many uses. Similar to magic in that respect, I guess. As many forms as I have imaginings in my head. The hammer slams into his skull and sends the man reeling backwards, flailing for a few seconds before he falls down. It would be comical, except for the fact that I have to throw up my strongest shield of water and magic immediately afterwards, melting the snow around me to do so. Pain flares in my back, scattering any other thought I may have had in my head. I gasp, wheeling around to face my attacker.

If it weren't for his heavy boots, I would probably be severely injured or dying now. Even my armor, part of the defense that reduced the impact, can only do so much for me. But my new foe is wearing heavy boots, signaling his approach just in time, and I don't need to wonder why, just to be thankful that it's the case. I form the water into a massive serpent, which lunges at the grizzled soldier before me. Just before it strikes him, I can hear the man screech, "Fish bit-!"

I throw extra speed and force into my attack when I hear him begin the insult. There's no way in all the pits of Hades that I'll let him call me _that_. It's an insult to dogs, which, from what I've seen in Wolf, are quite loyal. If I'm being honest, their fur is quite soft as well.

I sniff as he slams into the rock nearby, bones crunching. "Surface world barbarian," I snap in his direction, limping over to the other man to kick him in the head, which will at least incapacitate him, if not knock him out. Vicious, but when it comes down to winning a fight for certain or being gentle, I'll definitely go with the first option. _Dishonorable, _my traitorous mind whispers. I shove it out of my head. _I'm the victor! They deserve it! _I justify it to myself. In any event, I doubt that I could concentrate enough to cast such a fine-tuned spell as unconsciousness.

I take inventory of my injuries quickly. Bruises mainly- very painful bruises, but relatively minor injuries. My right hand reaches around, trying to ignore the pain that screams at me as it does so, and touches my shoulder. A moan leaks out of my mouth as I feel the blood there. When faced with a bullet, Atlantean durability isn't really relevant. There's a bullet in there somewhere, and if I'm lucky, I'll live from it. Contrary to popular opinion, shoulder wounds can very much be deadly, or at least take a person out of commission. I whisper a few healing incantations, feeling the drain of my power keenly. That should keep me functioning for now. The bleeding and pain at least are drastically reduced._  
_

I can hear shouts nearby, some male, some female, all hostile. Terrific. I touch the communicator, barely waiting for it to beep and tell me that it's activated. "I apologize for my failure, Leader Robin, La'gann, Beast Boy, but there will be a lot of alert enemies soon." I say as I begin to run, heading for the destination with utter disregard for stealth. No point now.

"Aquagirl!" Robin hisses. I can feel the restrained anger in his voice, oozing from the communicator and through my skin. Beast Boy doesn't comment, though I suspect that's because he's probably in another form and can't intelligibly reply. Blue Beetle mutters something that sounds annoyed in Spanish, and La'gann curses very quietly but creatively in Atlantean. I had no idea that it was anatomically possible to shove sea urchins up both of my nether orifices at the same time.

"I apologize again for my failure to adhere to the mission parameters," I pant, twisting in a position made very painful by the deep, growing bruises on my back to slash at a guard in my path. While I would dearly love to tell La'gann where to stick his own sea urchins, and tell them that I've been shot and ambushed, I bite my tongue. I will not let them see my weakness. I _cannot. _Robin fights powerful Gotham villains as part of routine. He's been shot, stabbed, hammered, poisoned, whipped...and my squad leader is a young boy. I'm considerably older than him, magically empowered, and I have a code to uphold. There is no question about it: I need to keep up the illusion of strength in front of these surface-worlders, long enough at least to find out Kaldur's fate and avenge him. My conviction must last that long.

Finally I fight my way to the deep crater where my teammates are waiting. None seem to be seriously injured. Though it's not as if you can tell very easily in Blue Beetle's case, what with his armor.

"I apolo-" I start.

"We get it_," _Blue Beetle cuts me off, though with less malice than I expected. "Let's just focus on what happens next, _si?_"

I nod quickly, wincing as the pain tries to fight past my spells. "What is the plan, Leader Robin?"

Robin glances up at me from where he's crouched. "We get in. We get out. I know the rest of us can't, but do you have the power to hide us? Invisibility or something?"

_No, I don't have the power. I'm just trying not to bleed out and keep the bullet inside me from damaging any internal organs. _

I keep the slight smile on my face. "Of course I can, Leader Robin." I lie smoothly. "A moment to devise a spell, if I may?"

He nods. I begin to rack my brain. _Think! Think! _I scream at myself, but the increasing numbness is starting to spread to my mind, it seems. Finally I dredge up a passage of poetry that I once read. _Seems I'm good at using others' words. Let's see if that's true._

"Veil of Artemis and Apollo, descend this day. Blue starlight, gilded sun, silver moon-dew spill down now radiant." Adding in my own touch, I say, "Hide us from the sight of mortals." I'm just too tired to focus on English, and the spell comes out entirely in Atlantean.

Slowly, as I shudder with the effort of maintaining the spell, something resembling invisibility ripples over us. It isn't quite invisibility- more like Martian camouflage, but it should do the trick.

"Please hurry, Leader Robin, Beast Boy, Blue Beetle, La'gann. I apologize for the lack of strength, but I cannot hold it for very long." I say, fighting the shake in my voice with all my might.

Judging from the befuddled looks on my companions' faces, none of that was intelligible. Or at least not enough.

"Could you say all of it in English instead of about half?" Beast Boy asks impatiently.

"She says to hurry because it won't hold for very long." La'gann translates.

Comprehension dawns on their faces, and Robin nods again in acknowledgement.

"Lagoon Boy and Blue Beetle, you take the left. Beast Boy and I will take the right. Aquagirl, go behind us. We'll make sure you can keep the spell up."

My brain functions just well enough to make the translation from English to Atlantean, and I nod back.

We do just that, slipping along very, very cautiously. There're surprisingly few guards once we've moved past the gate, with Robin hacking the security devices to not notice us.

I rip a curtain when no one's watching, tying the strip of cloth tightly around my shoulder. Magic can only do so much when I'm low on fuel.

We emerge in a courtyard, the sweet, horrible stench of burned flesh thick all around it. I manage to suppress my gag reflex, which isn't hard to do when you've burned a few bodies yourself. Experience desensitives a person, I've found. The place is remarkably well kept otherwise. A few benches, lamps on the walls, and general tidiness, though burn marks linger everywhere.

And then we discover why there are so few guards here: Robin's foot brushes a tripwire, and a burst of fire explodes upward, narrowly missing his toes. The heat bakes my skin to dryness, and I resort to using some of my precious weapon-water to cool myself.

Unfortunately, that heat breaks my tentative control, and we're entirely visible again. "Move, move!" Robin barks. We move, dodging explosions left and right. When we're nearly to the other side of the courtyard, the explosions stop suddenly, as a high-pitched female voice cuts the silence. It sounds remarkably childish.

"Aww, you're spoiling my fun, Justice Babies." The woman says, brushing a strand of brown hair beyond her ear. "Good thing that my employers don't let many goons be so close to my workshop, or they'd probably ruin it further."

They don't reply, just launch into action. Jaime soars upwards and sends waves of sonic energy pulsing from his hand-weapons at her, as Robin throws his birdarangs swiftly. Beast Boy is content to annoy the woman, presumably Katie Kaboom, turning into a bird and pecking at her head. La'gann and I rush her, if my stumbling dizzily after him can be called a rush. Note to self: learn better shielding spells.

Once again, my opponent proves that surface-worlders can occasionally be quite formidable, dodging nimbly with flips and leaps. Seems like a wildly impractical style to me, but I doubt that this slight explosives expert could take on people directly. She's just too-too-

My train of thought shuts off entirely, leaving me as a numbly functioning warrior. I can't think, can't improvise, just rely on the routines I know, the moves I've practiced. Dodge this thrown bomb. Run from the blast. Twist out of Robin's way. Lift her explosives pack away with a spell. Raise a faltering shield. Watch her be taken down.

I don't hear what Robin says after that- probably questioning her a little-because the ringing in my ears is too strong. Blessedly, we don't enter the complex, with Robin opting to scan it for similar signatures to the Hall of Justice bomb. There are none, and he uses another communicator to report that. I spend that time using up what's left of my power to heal my wound further. The lack of magic now is bad enough that my tattoos are clearly visible on my skin, no longer hidden by my power.

By the time we've escaped with Katie Kaboom, and made it up the slope, which seems so much steeper and longer now, I'm staggering. At the back of the pack, with everyone hyped up about the mission, I am not noticed. When we go back through the temporary Zeta tube, I just about collapse. My knees are knocking together.

Robin turns to say something to me. Congratulations on not dying? A reprimand? I don't know, because suddenly his stare is one of shock, worry, and horror.

He yells something to the people around him, again drowned out by the ringing, and rushes forwards to catch me.

_How odd_, I think as the world flashes hot and cold around me. _The floor seems to be getting closer. _

Unconsciousness overtakes me.

**-I am a line break, ending the story-**

_There you have it. Morgan gets shot, the mission finally ends, and I feel as if I have continuity errors in my own work. Tell me how it is!_


	16. Armor and Anguish

_Well, I was deeply tempted to deny you the pleasure of seeing Kaldur again. In this chapter, at least. However, I gave in to popular (well, not quite popular) demand and wrote his chapter. It helps that at the time of writing, everyone's favorite Atlantean had a Crowning Episode of Awesome. Enjoy!_

**-I am a line break, beginning this story-**

My name is Kaldur'ahm. I have to keep reminding myself of that, forcing my mind to remember who I am. It is too easy to forget, too easy to be crushed by the hate and twisted sense of morality that pervades every aspect of this place. The armor does not help. Taking it off in my quarters, there is still that moment when I look into the mirror and that's all I can see: the darkly shining, intimidating suit that hides me as long as I wear it. Not my body, anyone who wears clothes becomes accustomed to that quickly. It conceals _me, _all that I am. My desire to destroy the Light, my loyalty to Atlantis and the Team, my devotion to our mission. But I suppose that is necessary. Sacrifice is all that matters anymore.

I stand in the intelligence room, Tigress- Artemis, not Tigress, never Tigress- at my side. My father, Black Manta, stands near me. I never thought that I would call him, think of him, as being my father. But it's impossible to deny. I have come to care for him, as he cares for me. I know that it is a liability, and Nightwing would scold me for it. I must sacrifice the relationship that I have gained with my father as well. My mind screams this, when it isn't being duped into complacency, and my heart cannot reject him. How strange, that to be a hero, I must lose my heart as villains do, but if I allow my feelings for Black Manta to remain, I will turn body and soul to that side.

"The junior Justice League has been revealed by Tseng," he says in an oddly comforting, deep voice. The helmet distorts it somewhat in battle, but when we are amongst ourselves, Manta removes it and I can hear a voice that is similar to my own. "From what knowledge the Light has of them, these covert operatives have recently added another member to their roster. I believe that this name will sound familiar: Aquagirl."

My heart should stop. It should, but it doesn't, just speeds up and thumps against my chest fiercely. _Tula. _Tula was Aquagirl, beautiful and strong as she fought besides us. But she died defending Atlantis, getting civilians to safety as Poseidonis came crashing down and a storm of rubble brought her with it. Posiedonis didn't just crash down that day, though. My world did.

Yet somehow, my voice is perfectly calm when I speak. "Aquagirl? I thought that she had died in Atlantis."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see two pairs of eyes widen and glance over towards me worriedly. One the hard, flinty color of steel, and the other as grey as river pebbles. Tigress' and Artemis' eyes, the former's eyes superimposed to my sight over the latter's. She speaks up, perhaps trying to save me from any insensitivity on my father's part.

"Yeah, she did. A new model's come out, though."

A few pictures flicker onto the screen. The largest one gives me a clear view of the subject: a dark-eyed, black-haired girl dressed in a light blue-green version of my former uniform, complete with water-bearers. The only thing that marks her as being anything beyond an ordinary teenage girl in a costume, beyond the slight callouses and muscles of military training, is the many strange beads hanging in her long, braided hair. Each one is clearly marked with enchantments.

I know her, despite the change in style and age. We were classmates, and eventually close friends, back in Atlantis. Morgan'auli is a sorcerer through and through, but I never imagined that she would come to the surface world, let alone become a hero.

"Who is she?" I ask, knowing the answer already.

"Some pureblooded Atlantean brat," Black Manta replies. "Morgan'auli is her name, from what our reports say. A witch, just like Zatanna and the Martian girl. We can expect her to be deployed in the next skirmish with the sidekicks' team."

"I see." I say to him. "I shall devise strategies against her magic." Strategies to avoid killing someone new, in other words.

I return to my quarters again, trading the armor for loose, soft jeans and a more tightly fitted teal shirt. As I switch the armored boots for sandals, I take off the former and stare at my bare feet on the tile for a second. Five years ago, I rarely wore shoes at all. Five years ago, my armor was red and navy, not a dull black. Five years ago, Tula was alive, and I led a team of people who proudly called themselves heroes.

So what am I now? I am still a leader. I simply lead fighters for another side. I am still a hero- a secret one, who increasingly loses himself in love and secrets. But I am not a friend, nor an idealistic child. I am a sacrifice. I will give up everything I love, everything I am, for the sake of the mission. Nightwing may have been the protege of Batman, but I have become more like him than I thought possible. It horrifies me at times, but I need to do this. This is what the world needs, what must be done to further the greater good. If I have to leave my life behind, so be it.

So be it.

**-I am a line break, ending the story-**

_So, how was it? Did I adequately capture the essence of Kaldur'ahm? I hope so. Tell me what you think!_


	17. Hospitals and Healing

_The most recent episode had me in tears, and from what I hear that was pretty common. Anyway, you should know that I have the assumption that Young Justice shows episodes that we see are decently far from each other. I cover some of what's in the middle. Thanks to those who review!_ _Now, without further ado..._

**- I am a line break, begin the story-**

Coming back to consciousness is a slow process that I try to fight- I don't want to face all this yet, I really _don't-_ and that of course just makes me wake up faster. When I do, it tastes like an eel died in my very dry mouth and brought friends. I crack an eyelid, met with incredibly bright ceiling lights. Seriously, are they testing my eyes or something? I'm not blind.

In any event, someone saw fit to change my clothes into an itchy paper dress. At least they kept my underwear and bindings on. But I would dearly love to have a word with whoever made that decision. And speaking of bandages, my shoulder appears to be wrapped in them. I curse very quietly in Atlantean as I push myself into a sitting position. I don't even have to try and remember what happened to land me here, because it's fairly obvious that my attempt at healing must've failed miserably. Doing so, I see that Nightwing is leaning against the door frame, breathing strangely steadily.

The stiff white sheets somehow rustle, and Nightwing jerks upright. I can suddenly see his white lenses again. That explains a lot: he was asleep. It might be useful to learn the art of sleeping while standing up. I hear that dolphin sea-bloods can sleep with one eye open, and wonder in the not-quite awake part of my mind if that's possible for regular humans to do too.

Routine and willpower take over where my mind can't function, and I salute him with my left hand in place of my right. "My apologies for this, Leader Nightwing. I made the mistake of not adequately preparing a shield." It isn't as if I could do better, but there's no need to tell him that.

In a voice that somehow manages to escape the typical softness that someone who's just woken up, he replies shortly, "You were shot and didn't tell anyone. Explain."

Good to see you too, Bluebird Man. "I'm _sorry _that I actually tried to fix myself up and continue the mission. Robin doesn't deserve to be the student of the world's greatest detective if he can't notice that someone's wounded anyway." I say sarcastically.

Just kidding. I duck my head instead, trying to keep eye contact with Nightwing until it hurts and I have to raise my head again. "I did not want to worry anyone, Leader Nightwing. I wished to be of service to the squad and thought that I would endanger the mission if I mentioned it. I have failed you, Leader Nightwing, and I have failed my king." Now I lower my head, blinking hard as if fighting back tears.

He actually falls for it. I can barely believe that myself, but Nightwing says in a sympathetic tone, "It's fine, Aquagirl, really. You didn't fail anyone. Just _tell someone_ next time. Stoicism only goes so far."

I let out a sigh of relief, not just for his benefit. As long as the person in charge isn't mad at me, and I've further established myself as a dedicated, loyal doormat, I am very much relieved.

I tune back in to realize that he's continued. "You're exempted from missions until you've healed completely. You'll need physical therapy as well." Nightwing tells me with a sigh. "That means not trying to do strenuous stuff, not going to school for a while, and actually trying to get better."

I widen the faint smile that I usually wear, looking into his eyes once more. "I thank you so much, Leader Nightwing. I will do my very best to recover quickly." I reply. I feel ridiculous even saying the words, because no one really talks like that. I've tried to force myself to think that way, just to remind myself not to inadvertently slip up. Even tiny cracks in glass weaken the pane, after all, and I can't and don't want to show these surface-world brutes a tarnished image. They need a good example, just like Kaldur was mine.

Nightwing gives me a short nod, turning and leaving my room. "Good." He tosses back over his shoulder.

After that, I flop back onto the bed, gritting my teeth at the blaze of pain that flares in my shoulder. Taking it easy, as the phrase goes, might not be a bad idea. That said, I'm still torn between keeping up an act of strength and doing what I want to do. A little groan slips out of me as I shut my eyes again. Stupid psychological dilemmas. Maybe I can meditate on it.

It isn't long before the meditation turns into sleepiness, and the sleepiness turns into sleep.

**- I am a line break, ending the story-**

_Well, that was delivered somewhat later than I expected. I'm sure the feels-stricken among you can sympathize, though. See you next week!_


	18. Cassie and Chocolate Milk

_Hey all! I've had a powerful craving for Doritos of the Nacho Cheese variety this week. I wonder if my creativity's suffered for lack of a satisfied craving? You tell me!_

**-I am a line break, beginning the story-**

When I wake up, I'm very relieved to see that Nightwing isn't in the doorway again. On the bright side, when I ease myself up from the bed and swing my legs over the edge, my shoulder doesn't hurt so much. Though that could be because of pain medicine, I take it as a sign of good healing. My use of healing magic's shaved off a lot of the time it would normally take to heal, so with a little bit of luck I'll be back in the field soon.

I slide off the bed, feeling the jolt of cold tile against my bare feet. Would it kill them to put carpet down or something? The tug of something attached to my arm makes me glance over towards the offending object, which I see is some kind of bag dripping something as cold as the tile into my veins. With any luck...

I grab the metal pole that the bag dangles from, pulling it cautiously towards me. Someone's thought to attach wheels to it, so the medicine bag, as I've decided to call it, rolls smoothly closer. Good. I can actually move, instead of being confined to bed for however long the powers that be decide that I need to have chemicals in my blood. The all-knowing Nightwing's probably a doctor or something. It wouldn't surprise me. Doctors know the human body, after all, and martial arts do use the body. Though for all the Bat-family lets on, they could just as likely be a bunch of billionaires.

Abandoning that train of thought, I drag the medicine baggy across my room, which appears to be a standard hospital room. White walls, grey-blue tiles on the floor, and a few utterly random motivational posters plastered on the walls. One of them reads, "All excuses stop here!" My lips tug into a grin as I pass it. That was exactly what got me here in the first place. It's just a hunch, but maybe a different poster would be in order here.

I poke my head out of the doorway, glancing around to make sure I don't run into anyone. There doesn't appear to be anyone in the hallway, but there is a clock. If it's anything to go by, I've chosen the perfect time to wake up: 4:12 in the morning. And by perfect I mean not at all perfect. No one's up now for me to talk to, and it's probably too dark for me to take a walk around the nearby beach. I guess I'll just explore the halls for the third time since I came here.

I do just that, wandering through Mount Justice with the medicine bag trailing behind me. Going down the hallway, I discover that the showers are at its other end. Well. I always wondered what was at the other end of this corridor, and now I know. A minor discovery, but to someone who's bored, anything new is entertaining.

I proceed to the kitchen, accidentally whacking myself in the heels with the medicine bag's wheels every few steps. By the time I'm at Mount Justice's official dinner table, despite the fact that people eat on the couch a lot, my heels are red and I'm pushing away a slightly faint feeling. I pad across the floor, silently thanking whoever invented wall-to-wall carpets. I cross back to tile as I approach the fridge, swinging the door open and blinking in the painful white light that spills out.

I'm not really hungry for any of the contents, most of which are dinner preparations anyway. For some reason, there's a bag in the fridge with the words "Chicken Whizzies! Original Flavor!" splashed across it.

"I don't want to know..." I mutter.

"Hey, you used a contraction." A voice behind me says sleepily. "I knew you could."

I spin around, nearly knocking the medicine bag over and scrambling to catch it. Wonder Girl- I think she said that her personal name was Cassie- is standing right behind me, golden hair messed up and pajamas wrinkled from sleep. She doesn't even bother to say good morning, I note with annoyance.

I blink at her for a few seconds before remembering what Aquagirl's supposed to be doing. Time to take on that persona again. I bow stiffly, twinges of pain shooting through my shoulder as I forget that I'm supposed to be using my left arm and grab the pole to make sure it doesn't fall.

Plastering a smile on my features again, I say to her, "Good morning, Wonder Girl. I apologize for not greeting you earlier. I did not realize that you had entered the room." I'm starting to feel like some kind of computer. Give me a certain input and all I can give you is the matching response. A mechanical puppet, dancing to a tune someone else chose. Not in the sense of being a pawn, just like I have to act a certain way for these surface-worlders. It's frustrating.

Cassie smiles tiredly. "Mornings're evil." She nods at the still-open refrigerator door behind me. "You gonna get something from that? If you're not, I'm kinda hungry."

I shake my head, happy that my blush at having been discovered looking for a snack is hidden by the dim lighting. "I am not hungry." I lie, already trying to justify it to myself because she's just a surface-worlder. "Please go ahead."

I step away from the fridge, hissing quietly when my legs buckle a little. Grabbing the counter, I make my way over to the table and take a seat hurriedly. Nightwing and my king would kill me if I collapsed already. Eventually Cassie comes over, carrying a glass of milk, which she stirs a dark brown syrup into. I'm fairly certain that it's chocolate, but you never know. My teammate plunks herself down in a chair, taking a gulp of the chocolaty milk.

"I didn't know you were allowed out of bed." She comments. "Robin was freaking out when he told us about how you fainted. Kinda weird since he's the one who's always getting hurt, but the Bats are so serious." I can imagine that. Stupid to worry about a teammate you can't help and who who failed on their own if you ask me.

"Leader Nightwing said that I could take it easy, Wonder Girl," I reply. True, even if I'm pretty sure that he meant when I was allowed back on my feet. "How long have I been recovering, Wonder Girl?"

The blonde shrugs. "Couple weeks, maybe. You looked like an octopus with all the tubes stuck in you. Still got one," she adds, nodding at my new inanimate companion. " And I told you to call me Cassie."

I shake my head, trying to look like I'm giving an apologetic smile. A couple weeks? Hopefully the League covered for me. I haven't even been going there that long. My classmate Emily was nice enough, and it was funny to mentally mock my class on Metahumans. Bother. Now I'll have schoolwork to make up.

"I cannot do that, Wonder Girl. I must maintain the proper level of respect for an honored hero such as yourself," I say. I don't respect her at all, actually. She's over-eager and flighty, not hero material at all. Still, it's not a lie. Cassie's honored by other surface-worlders, and I really can't do that if I want to keep the act up.

She laughs. "Tell that to Wonder Woman, okay? She's always going on about being responsible and stuff. I try, I really do." Sounds like my part-Olympian teammate needs the advice if a woman with the patience of Pax suggests it.

Ah, well, what can I do? Seems like someone who can summon the force of the elements, cast illusions, and fight putting down a rebellion should be able to persuade a teenage girl to be a little more mature. Funny what people can and can't do.

I nod, catching myself about to yawn. I stifle it as best as anyone really can. Which is not well at all. Our conversation continues pretty much like this for a while. I don't know how long, because all I'm doing is reciting the names of Atlantean gods and their symbols in my head to stay awake. I really, really hate etiquette sometimes. Wonder Girl chatters about superheroes and what her mentor's said about this or that and I nod and put in a word every so often. Eventually she stands and leaves with a muttered "bye", leaving me to clean up. Again.

I wash the chocolate out, sticking the cup in the dishwasher and eating a banana from off of the counter. It's annoyingly soft, and the skin's tough, but I just need something in my stomach right now.

After that I leave, heading back to my room- Kaldur's old one, not the infirmary one. I carefully lie down on the bed, not bothering to unmake it. It's trouble enough finding a position that I won't knock over the medicine bag in. Eventually I find one and let the early morning hours suck me back into sleep.

Unconsciousness does wonders for sanity.

**-I am a line break, ending the story-**

_So, that was letting everyone meet my personal characterization of Cassie: casual, carefree, and possessed of a strong sweet tooth. I decided that Morgan wouldn't have the slightest clue how to properly eat a banana, but would probably know it was food. _


	19. Combat and Cultists (uncreative title)

_I'm not even going to pretend that I was too busy to update. I_ was_ busy, but mainly just lazy. I'll be accelerating the pace a bit now. Probably comes as a relief to you readers, since I do enjoy writing filler. Maybe because so many fics are filled with over-the-top drama, maybe because I know I'm not top-notch at fight scenes, or maybe because I feel that a person is known best through their everyday life, and not in emergencies. Speaking of which, would someone mind telling me how Morgan'auli comes across from reading?_

_My imagined theme song for this chapter is "Frontline" by Pillar._

**- I am a line break, beginning the story-**

The next two weeks passes more quickly than I expected. Physical therapy with some woman who calls herself Dr. Light makes me hurt every day, and the work sent to me from school on the worse days is a pain in the neck. It gives me a great excuse not to have to talk to people, though, and that beats free time for me at this point. Beast Boy's not a bad kid, for a landwalker, but he just talks so much, and without a hint of respect to boot.

I start to form a friendship with my school guide, Emily. Something resembling one, anyway. I feel almost freer with her, able to say stuff that I don't dare say with the Team. Ironically, I can't and don't particularly want to tell her the truth about myself, but the person I am around Emily is a little more like me, and a little less like Aquagirl.

...I know full well what that sounds like, and I'll put that notion out of your head right now. I don't have any romantic feelings for her, truly. Which only makes me sound even more suspicious, but I digress.

I'm the best student in my class on metahumans and the like. It would be pretty embarassing if I was ignorant of the people that I work and live among, so that's not really surprising. My teacher, Ms. Petrinelli, hates superhuman people with a passion. I'd love to get inside her head and see what makes her tick. People like that always have some sort of excuse buried deep in their past. Only years of self-control and pinches on my wrist every so often keep me from laughing in her face.

Soon enough Nightwing tells me that I'm ready to head back into the field, and that I'll be having my first real mission with Aquaman. We've fought in a few unimportant skirmishes together, but this one seems like a mission worth my time. Not that I would _ever _get frustrated with baby assignments. Of course not.

My bandages are taken off- the shoulder ones, at least- when I meet him near the Zeta tubes, almost bouncing with joy. That's how eager recruits are when they first join up with the army, and how good little Aquagirl should be. I mentally roll my eyes.

My king greets me with a smile, and I salute him, bowing deeply as I do so. Turns it into a rather awkward gesture, but whatever.

"Greetings, my king Aquaman." I say.

"Well met, Aquagirl." He replies. "Go over to the Zeta tubes, and I'll put in the coordinates."

I nod, throwing out the obligatory formal verbal agreement as I do just that. Orin taps on the keyboard, nodding with satisfaction as he finishes and coming over to stand next to me. The yellow light consumes us with an uncomfortably staticky feeling.

Right as I start to get nervous, the world reforms around us. I blink at the darkness. Looks like wherever we are, it's night-time. Somewhere tropical, too- the humidity's high enough that I could probably pull water out of the air. Not that I could get much, but that's pretty high.

I turn to my king. "Excuse me for asking, my king, but where are we?" I ask. Probably should've asked _before _we came, but when you're stir-crazy and worried about your very first mission with the person who rules your home, things tend to slip your mind.

Aquaman blinks a few times himself, adjusting to the darkness. "Kejam. It's an island in Indonesia. Not usually inhabited, but some members of a splinter group of the Cult of Kobra, Asp, have set up shop here dealing some low-grade cobra venom."

Confusion settles over my features. "I apologize for my ignorance, my king, but how is cobra venom dangerous?"

"How is- Oh, of course. Not the venom of a cobra snake, a kind of drug modified by the Cult of Kobra." He chuckles. "I can see how easy it is to confuse them."

I blush, hoping it isn't too visible in the darkness. "I see, my king. What is our purpose here?"

Atlantis's ruler cants his head towards a nearby island. "To take out the cultists on that island and confiscate the Venom to be destroyed later. Shouldn't be too strenuous for you." He smiles generously at me. I smile back.

"Of course, my king." I reply. "Shall I lead?"

Aquaman hesitates for a second. "No. You just finished recovering. If they see us coming and fire, I'm a bit more durable. Too dangerous for you. Besides, your magic works well from a distance."

So going on a mission halfway across the world to stamp out a drug cartel's outpost isn't dangerous, but it's too dangerous for me to swim in front? Perfect logic. I can't argue with the fact that some of my spells are long-range, so it works.

My king wades into the water ahead of me, and I follow, glancing back at the Zeta tube as I do. It's hidden in some trees, surprisingly inconspicuous. Probably a temporary station, designed to disassemble after a set amount of uses to be collected by a flight- or teleportation-capable Leaguer later.

We slice through the water in silence, stopping about three or four yards away from the shore. Sure enough, dark-robed people are patrolling the edge, the outlines of weapons visible on their bodies. All of a sudden, before we can even formulate a plan, a gunshot sounds and a bullet sends a plume of water up scarily close to me.

Aquaman curses in an obscure Atlantean dialect. "They detected us- I'd bet on some kind of infrared sensor. Fall back and start firing."

I do just that, pulling water up beneath me to lift me up a bit and give my hands a bit more room to make signs if necessary. Racking my brain for spells to use, I discover that no matter how well you think you know detailed spells, it gets way harder to remember them under stress. Pulling a relatively basic one out of my head, I splay the fingers of my left hand in the air and curl the thumb and pinky fingers of my right hand under, throwing both out in front of me. I whisper the incantation beneath my breath- no need to give them an even clearer idea of where I am.

"The naiads' whips lash my foes. Earth's blood makes a fountain and the children of dust and fire are brought to their knees. Strike!" I hiss, shaping the projectiles of water that emerge towards some of the dark shapes I can see. Most go down as if I bludgeoned them with a mace. Looks like I've done my job right for a change.

I frown at the remaining ones, dodging their shots as best I can. They need a little taste of lightning, if you ask me, but it'd be ungrateful of me not to use a few of the spells Zatanna's taught me.

"_Onmad sov muc egni!" _I snarl, feeling a savage delight at what's about to ensue, though at the same time the drain of my power burns inside. I've never used this spell at such a magnitude.

My targets scream, fire exploding around them. I supplement the flames with my own power for as long as I can safely do it, then let the natural flames take over for me. Some have the presence of mind to head for the water, throwing their weapons to the side. Others react the way I probably would: writhing around on the ground screaming in a mix of terror, pain, and shock.

_Burn, you pieces of pond scum. Burn! _I think furiously, almost regretting it when I extinguish the fire. Can't be known as a murderer, after all.

When it's safe to come to shore, my king signals me and I release my hold on the water beneath me, swimming over and practically dragging myself onto the sand. You know how people describe tiredness in stories, saying they're bone-tired or completely exhausted? That's exactly how I feel, only it's real and not just words on a page.

I put on a brave face for my king, though, and he gives me a hesitant smile. "Good work, Morgan. Though perhaps some less destructive measure would be warranted next time?"

I duck my head. "I thank you for the generous compliment, my king. I am undeserving." I reply. "I apologize for my carelessness in spell choice. I was unthinking and desperate in the heat of the battle." A good way to earn someone's trust, I've found, is admitting weakness, whether it's an actual weakness of yours or not. It works especially well if you are careful to be particularly stoic and independent.

He falls for it hook, line, and sinker. "No fear, Aquagirl. Panic happens." My king claps me on the back. "We need to move."

I nod quickly, following him through the trees and vaulting over rocks until we reach a compound. Small- this island can't hold a big operation. But armed and alert, which is really what matters.

Some of the thugs shout in another language, receiving yelled responses that switch from that language to English in a variety of accents after a few sentences. Presumably they're talking to those who don't speak whichever surface-world language that is. I'd hazard Indonesian if I had to guess, and the speakers in question are probably from a nearby island, hired by the cultists. Might as well use the resources around you, after all.

My king and I deal with them in close-quarters combat. My king's strong enough to distract some of them and take some blows as I disarm them with hastily-conjured water whips and blurted charms. Not all of them are holding guns, though- a few appear to be all-out brawlers, and some are martial artists. I deal with these, using constructed swords on the martial artists and war-hammers on the brawlers. After forcing them to leave openings, or just plain slashing at or whacking them hard enough to weaken them, I slam my palms into their chests and deliver a relatively mild electric shock.

Let's just say that those barbarians won't be waking up for a while and leave it at that.

When the fight finally ends, I'm bleeding from a few lucky knife jabs, bruised from the strikes that landed, and altogether ready to fall to the ground and start snoring right there. Sadly, the League tends to frown on naps in the middle of missions, so I stay standing and widen my ever-present smile for my king.

"Do you think there are more, my king?" I ask him. _Neptune, please don't let there be more. That is all I need right now._

Orin sighs and nods. "There are bound to be a few more holed up in the storehouse. Maybe a couple of men near the shipment docks."

_Absolutely fantastic. _I give a nod of my own. I seem to be doing that a lot lately; my interactions feel like they've become mostly nods of agreement on my part. "Then we shall defeat them, my king Aquaman." I reply.

The rest of the mission is far less active. We take out a tiny band of Asp cultists in the storehouse, which equates to my king dealing with the strongest members and me directing an easy spell originally designed to cook food towards the guns of the others. They drop the weapons like hot potatoes, making it all too simple for me to deliver brutal strikes at the softer parts of their bodies with two rods created from water. I really don't have the creativity or energy to make anything more complicated. It's like my brain's gone numb, leaving only automatic movement to keep me alive.

Aquaman alerts the League that we've stamped out the outpost, and we slap electronic tags onto the boxes of Kobra Venom that'll explode and take the drugs with them if anyone not wearing a piece of tech that emits a very specific frequency gets too close. I have to give the surface-worlders my admiration for that.

We proceed back to the Zeta tube after checking to make sure there aren't any more thugs around to give the person who picks this stuff up a nasty surprise. There happens to be a pair of scientist-type cultists trying to escape on a boat, and I reward them with binding spells and thwacks to the head to knock them unconscious, or at least in enough pain not to want to get up if they somehow break free.

When my king escorts me home, I manage a tired salute to him before stopping in at the infirmary for some antiseptic and bandages on my wounds. I wave away the offer for pain medicine. Let me deal with my pain on my own, thanks ever so much.

I change into my pajamas from home, a relatively tight-fitting but comfortable shirt and leggings. It would be pretty impractical to sleep in something loose with all the water currents, after all. I ease myself into the water, closing my eyes as soon as it envelops me. Soon enough I've drifted off to sleep.

**- I am a line break, ending the story-**

_So, that was it. I don't really have any other comments, except the obligatory request for you to review it. Also, I recommend the fic Project Tatterdemalion._


	20. Weapons and Warfare

_Perhaps I should have made this another fanfic entirely. But it's set in what I've termed (to keep it apart from canon mentally) the Aquaverse, so I put it here. I'm also just a little bit lazy, so that's part of it too. This was inspired by an absolutely beautiful Bleach fic. Song for this "chapter" (i'll be adding them to the previous ones too): "We Are" by Thousand Foot Krutch._

**- I am a line break, beginning the entry-**

Dick is a poisoned dart, fired at the opportune moment. He strikes from the shadows, imperceptible until his work is done. The dark-haired man works like his enemies do, and that's how he keeps everyone alive. When they're fighting on the frontlines, doing the dirty work, that's when Dick goes to work, watching his friends' backs when they can't. He is neat, and quick, and there are no loose ends left when he is done. Just dead bodies. Dick's allies might not like it, but ultimately they will live to fight another day, and it is the villains' body count that has risen.

Darkness is not a tool only for the dark of heart, and Nightwing belongs to it wholly. He is the assassin's dart, dipped in poison. A necessary evil.

**- I am a line break, shifting focus-**

Kaldur is a hammer, swung with the strength of someone who never wanted to fight a war. He isn't the fastest, or the strongest. He doesn't have the finesse and sharpness of Nightwing, nor the precision of Artemis. But the Atlantean is unrelenting, and uncompromising. Kaldur doesn't need any of those attributes, because he will pound whoever needs it until the battle shifts fields, and then he strikes where they tell him to. The blond was meant for peace, for building a new world, and it is only chance and the need of others that have kept him standing, swinging his weapons, fighting on and sacrificing himself for those who need him. And those who underestimate his power regret it when they lie broken on the ground, victim to an attack they never saw coming.

Endurance is at Kaldur's core. He is the war-hammer, crushing those between him and those he loves. Ready to fight when conflict arises, and ready to renew the shattered battlefield when it is all over.

**- I am a line break, shifting focus-**

Blue Beetle is a bioweapon. He was designed to breach defenses and bring everything crashing down from the inside. Jaime is an infiltrator. The teen knows that it is only a matter of time before he infects the heroes and destroys them. He can only hope and pray that someone finds a cure before the sickness sets in. Blue Beetle is the body used against itself, the inevitability of nature running its course. He is a long, slow death that no one recognizes until it is too late.

Plague is the truth of Jaime's existence, and his body is quarantine. He is a bioweapon, bringing everyone great and small to their knees. Death walking, waiting for someone to press the wrong button or turn the right key.

**- I am a line break, shifting focus-**

The new Aquagirl is a war fan. She is the picture of delicacy, pretty enough but not threatening. Beneath it all lies steel. Morgan'auli projects the impression of refinement, and so no one questions her intentions. That's the mistake they all make, thinking nothing of the smiling Atlantean girl until they are cut down by her hidden blades or feel the poison she dispenses take effect. She is a hidden weapon, always present but never used until the situation calls for it.

Morgan's appearance deceives, and few see beyond the lacquer. She is a war fan, signaling the turn of the tide as much as adding blood to the crimson sea. Kindness that masks hate.

**- I am a line break, shifting focus-**

Tim is a staff, testing the way before moving. He hides tricks up his sleeve to be used when the enemy proves too strong. The newest Robin controls his enemies' attacks and does more damage than friend or foe gives him credit for. He has become his chief weapon, reduced to being a tool for war. Tim is growth turned to carnage, a tool of the peacemakers made to bring pain. He is the trademark of travelers, constantly in motion. A part of him will never stop longing to forget what has changed him. Maybe it's for that reason that Robin falls for Cassie, trying to let her light scatter the shadows all around him. They can forge a new path together.

Tim is quiet power, fluid and direct. He is a staff, at once stronger and more fragile than he appears, constantly about to break when the force finally becomes too much. Dusk that shrouds dawn.

**- I am a line break, shifting focus-**

Impulse is a sniper's rifle. He has one purpose, and one only: resolve the problem when no one's watching. Bart needs to be in the right place, at the right time, for the right people. The speedster might throw up a facade of cheer and chatter, but when it comes down to the line he will pull the trigger. It is a job for concealment and speed, without any distractions to get in the way. He is in and out before anyone notices.

Bart is a flash of death, there for only a second before the victim knows anything has happened. He is a sniper's rifle, out of reach so no one can hurt him. If they did find him, Impulse would simply be gone. A burst of lightning, an instant of awe-inspiring pain and brilliance.

**- I am a line break, shifting focus-**

Artemis is a pair of short swords. She can't protect everyone, and she knows that, so she sticks to protecting those around her. They are her family, and the blonde takes up arms for them and them alone. Artemis is finesse and precision, cleanly cutting down anyone who crosses her. As much as she has changed, the archer retains a trace of the Shadows, using her skill as much for defense as for the thrill of the fight.

The clean stroke of a blade or flight of an arrow defines Artemis. She doesn't care for pretentiousness or flashy displays. The blonde is a pair of short swords, double-edged and savagely elegant. A dual nature.

**- I am a line break, shifting focus-**

Conner is a fist, primal and instinctive as well as surprisingly gentle. The same hands that direct brutal force towards anyone who defies what's right tenderly ruffle Beast Boy's hair. He learns to control his great strength, but that doesn't stop the black-haired clone from flying into a rage when the Light threatens those he has sworn to protect. Bloodlust fills every inch of his bones when the so-called Superboy pounds their enemies into a pulp, or as close as he can without actually killing them. Maybe that shows that he's more human than Kryptonian, because Conner knows that Superman never loses his composure and has to force himself not to unleash his colossal strength and deliver the killing blow.

Superboy could be boiled down to raw emotion, to a sort of pleasure at delivering on his promise to fight for good. He is a fist, as powerful as he is restrained. Pure will.

**- I am a line break, ending the entry-**

_Well, that was it. Much obliged if anyone would find me that particular fanfic. I know it's on here somewhere..._


	21. Word of Me and Why Things Happen

_So, I kinda wanted to clarify a few things. Or at least give the semi-official view on them._

_First off, Nightwing _isn't _as easily fooled by Morgan as she thinks. You have to get up pretty early to beat the protege of the world's greatest detective, after all. This _will _come back to bite her later._

_Second, Doctor Light is the female, good version here. In the comics she's an astronomer, actually, but Greg and Brandon have changed characters to fit in canon, so I thought I'd do the same. _

_Third, I haven't really elaborated on how/why Morgan fell in love with Kaldur. In essence, she admired him before he left to become Aqualad and was very happy to have someone who was willing to pay attention to her long enough to see past the cold exterior she wore at the time. Morgan also served her mandatory time in the military during the purist rebellion and had her entire squad slaughtered by purists. Consequently she clings very tightly to anyone who is truly close to her. _

_Fourth, Beast Boy, Cassie, and Impulse are not nearly as irritating as my protagonist makes them out to be. I rather like Cassie and Impulse, even if the former lacks much characterization. I'm indifferent to Beast Boy. Morgan simply doesn't like their less serious demeanors or their level of noise. In my head, I don't think she really has an emotional bond with anyone besides Kaldur, just ties of duty, which don't take priority to her way of thinking. I personally disagree with Morgan's all-consuming obsession, despite my own favor towards Kaldur. _

_Finally, Kaldur will not reciprocate her feelings. I'm deliberately writing it that way because many other stories introduce female OCs who have history with the main characters that make one character (often Robin/Nightwing, though I can't _possibly _imagine why) fall for them. In real life, sometimes the guy just doesn't get the girl, and vice versa. I prefer to write for the adventure, not the romance._


	22. LexCorp and Lunatics

_My laziness regarding writing another chapter was further encouraged by my idea of having a schedule for my writing. Every Friday (though usually Saturday or Sunday because I only enforce the schedule when I have free time) comes another word-vomit for your maybe-pleasure. I love combining words, as you may have guessed. Anyways, I'm making very slow progress on giving each chapter a song. I expect by the time this is through that you'll have learned a lot about my musical tastes. And my current obsessions, notably Thousand Foot Krutch. Right, getting back on topic. I mentioned in my explanation entry that not everyone is fooled by Morgan. That will come later, but for now I'm trying to build up to it. And in this entry, the friction begins..._

_Song: "Scream" by Thousand Foot Krutch. Because I couldn't think of anything else. And yes, listening to the song is necessary to get it. You may not rely on titles. "I'm So Sick" by Flyleaf could work as well._

**-I am a line break, beginning the story-**

I'm having a hard time even pretending to care about school anymore. I genuinely tried to open up my mind to it- no point letting my initial opinions color my experience and make me even more bored. But I'm not some wide-eyed optimist who thinks rainbows are always just around the corner. I can't fake positive emotions to myself, and it's hard sometimes to dredge up the ever-present smile after dropping it when I'm alone for a second. I think my grins are starting to get twitchy.

In any event, I'm very sick of people talking slowly to me because they think I'm not good with English. I would love to give them a piece of my mind, but there's the unfortunate fact that I'd probably explode at them literally as well as figuratively to consider. Barbecued teachers are not sanctioned by the Justice League. My cover story is that my father was an American businessman who moved to Greece for business and stayed for love, sending his children to study here, so I find their idea that I don't understand English well a bit odd. Being underestimated is helpful in the long run, I know that, but I want to show off _now. _Not show off, exactly, something between showing off and unleashing everything I'm capable of on someone. Yelling, or casting one of the higher-level spells I know, or just plain giving someone a beat-down. Things I haven't done in years, because of course no proper Atlantean girl would ever give in to strong emotion.

Presently, though, I am sitting in my class on superhumans, which could not be more dull. Not a good place to go berserk. And I can't even doze off here, since it's one of those classes that you actually need to pay attention to if you want to get good grades but bores you if you actually do listen. Right now we're hearing a lecture from Petrinelli about the dangers of letting metahuman heroes act as they do. Something about "absolute power corrupts absolutely." An idea comes to me, and I tear off a corner of my worksheet, writing a little message on it. I pass the scrap to Emily, who snorts as she reads it. "Absolute boredom bores absolutely" was inspired, if I do say so myself.

I'm dragged out of my light-hearted moment by a very soft pinging noise from my pocket. That would be my communicator, which could not have chosen a more perfect class to get me out of. I thank Neptune, Poseidon, and my patron god, Anaklusmos, lord of sudden storms and sustained efforts. Naturally, Petrinelli hears _that, _and she frowns at me.

"Morgan, do you have a phone on you?" She asks, audibly trying to sound stern and failing. For better or for worse, I'm one of her favorite students for my extensive knowledge of metahumans, and it's hard for her to really get mad at me. Why is it that the people I don't like seem to like me the most?

I can't fight the blush that spreads on my face- not the cute kind that appears in books, either, the kind that turns my cheeks blotchy pink and red. I'd rather lack in the charms department than in the battle skills department, though. I value my life over my looks.

My brain seems to short out here. I could lie and say that I have one, since a communicator is not technically a phone, which would explain the sound. I could deny it, which might raise suspicion what with the lack of superhero teenagers carrying communicators in everyday schools. Or I could act confused, as if I don't understand the question. But no, I won't demean myself like that. Bad enough that other people do that.

Turns out that my mouth works better than my mind does. "No, Ms. Petrinelli, I do not have a phone. It is a reminder for a doctor's appointment." I try to lay on the vaguely Mediterranean accent expected of me, smiling sheepishly. Play up the foreign girl angle and you can get away with a bit more than an ordinary student. "I apologize, but may I be excused to the appointment?" I give her my best earnest look.

She hesitates for a second before nodding. "As long as you check it with the central office on the way out. We'll be studying the 'black ops team' run by the Justice League soon, so do a little reading on it while you're out."

I nod, rising and collecting my folders quickly. I flash another smile as I leave, this one more genuine. Studying the team I'm a part of, are we? This is going to be hilarious, if it doesn't infuriate me. My patience is stretched sometimes as is, what with the blatant racism that my teacher shows towards metas. Occasionally she does make good points, like the bit about people naturally being scared of strange and deadly powers. Still, the fact that the Justice League is guarding the planet should be a bit of a deterrent to the obvious dislike that a lot of ordinary humans show towards people like me.

I stop in the bathroom after exchanging my binders and books for the ones I need for homework, checking to make sure that no one's there before I send a quick message to Nightwing about the 'doctor's appointment' excuse. Best to have something resembling evidence to back up lies, after all. From there, it's simple enough to slip out of school and head to the Zeta tube.

When I arrive at the Cave and run to the central room, Blue Beetle gives me a slightly puzzled look before I remember that I'm wearing civilian clothes. One change of clothes later and I'm discarding the clothes onto the floor right there. For the life of me, I can't figure out why I'm getting a horrified look and a deeply blushing teammate. Then it hits me: the glamour charm is still active, and it projects a little stronger than my real self to those who know me. He must be seeing the image of my barely-clothed false identity superimposed on me.

Naturally, I blush an even brighter shade of red than I had in school, discarding the necklace hurriedly and muttering a quick charm for short-distance, small-quantity teleportation over the discarded clothing. Looks like that one's useful for more than just cleaning my room. I blurt out a few profuse apologies, apologizing for everything from carelessness to indecency, capping it off with a deep bow from the waist. Fortunately, my teammates are used to the excessive politeness by now, and he waves it off with a muttered "it's nothing" as Nightwing enters. I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll be hearing about that later from our resident detective. Superhero teenagers we may be, but that doesn't mean we're more mature or focused than any other bunch.

I try to make myself small behind Jaime, which doesn't work that well since I'm about an inch or so taller than him. Nightwing gives me a puzzled look, but shakes his head as if to get rid of a thought.

"Right then. Blue Beetle, Aquagirl, it's your turn to handle this." He says rapidly, turning and bringing up a few images of a tiny blonde woman clad entirely in rainbow-streaked black smirking at us. What's her name supposed to be, Harlequin? I'm pretty sure the Joker's girlfriend already has that one reserved.

"This is Deathknell, a former assassin. Recently she's popped up again. She's switched over to attacking corporations, though there's no clear pattern yet." A map appeared next to Deathknell's portrait, showing a blinking dot near a bay. "LexCorp's under attack from her in Saffron City. Much as I'd rather ignore it, there are innocents working there. You two are going to Zeta there and arrest her."

Jaime snorted. "_This lady_ is an assassin? She looks like my sister's music teacher, _ese. _You sure?"

Nightwing sighed. "Not up for debate, Blue. Just get there and remember that she's as good with hand-to-hand combat as she is with poisons and guns. Jaime's got command here, Aquagirl."

I bow, letting the hair that flops around my face hide my grimace. "Yes, Leader Nightwing."

From there we rush to the Zeta tubes, where my blue-armored teammate finds Saffron in the system's directory of coordinates. One burst of yellow light later and we've arrived at the local tube, which happens to be right in the middle of this bustling- not quite bustling, really, more like crowded- metropolis, which equates to an annoying amount of trouble for me. Not for Blue Beetle, since he can fly, but we're not all so lucky.

His armor forms wings pretty quickly, while I'm left awkwardly looking for a way to the rooftops. Finally I just settle on busting open a fire hydrant and riding the ensuing torrent of water up. As I glance around for landmarks to actually find the place with, I become aware of a voice that doesn't belong to me or to Jaime. With those two possibilities eliminated, it's pretty obvious that there's an indignant bystander yelling at me.

"Hey you! You heroes think you can destroy property like that! That's taxpayer money!" The man shouts up. I really don't have time for this, so I turn around and indulge myself in a glare, freezing the water with a clenched fist. He isn't fazed as much as I hoped, but it shuts him up long enough for me to pinpoint our resident weirdo. Myself, I don't think that people whose skins are regularly saved should get to call out the saviors, but that's not really important right now.

I follow Blue Beetle over the rooftops, using water constructs where the distance or height is too great. Every so often I'm forced to drop to the pavement, cushioning my fall with water and startling a few civilians. Their expressions would be hilarious if I stopped to look at them, but there's the whole matter of saving that egghead's company's pathetic installation to consider.

Soon enough we come to the bay. Deathknell's thoughtfully disabled the bridge with a few well-placed bombs. You'd think someone whose job relies on stealth wouldn't use devices that result in loud noise, fire, and a whole lot of light, but maybe it was a diversion or something. Classic, or maybe clichéd villain trick, after all. Get the heroes somewhere else and ambush them, letting you take whatever it is without fear of attack. Only problem is that the heroes usually planned for that too, and you get ambushed.

I dive into the water and swim across as Jaime flies above. We don't talk much when our teammates aren't around, for some reason. By surface-world standards, we're close, but Gar and Bart and the rest are like catalysts for our conversation. They get it started and things happen from there.

He touches down besides me as I emerge onto the shore, and I can't help but notice the grace the Hispanic-American teen has. A light tap of feet on the asphalt instead of the stumbling thud that I know I've made somewhere along the line. The grace of an assassin, almost, deceptively soft, and I notice with a little bit of unease that Jaime leans forward a bit on his toes like a wildcat ready to pounce. I make a mental note of that. Gut instinct about a person is good to pay attention to in the event that you're right. If you're right, you're prepared to react. If not, then no harm done.

"You cover the left side of the island, I'll take the right. Give a shout on your communicator if you find Deathknell, okay, _chica_?" Blue Beetle says, flashing a grin at me. I can't help but wonder how his armor manages to do that. Seriously, I'd really like to get my hands on some armor like that. It wouldn't look like Kaldur's, but the little kid in me is squealing at how cool that is. That same little kid is also vehemently disagreeing with the order to tell him if I find the woman. I'm looking for a fight today, and that would be an excellent chance. Knowing me, I'll probably find her, too.

I incline my head to him. "As you command, Leader Blue Beetle." See, this is where I wish English had Atlantean-style honorifics. We have a lot, including one for the commander of a squad, and that just doesn't translate, leaving me sounding really weird.

Pushing the details of my native language out of my head, I take off for the left side of the island. As soon as I enter the complex, I draw my water-bearers. No point in expending extra energy to keep them in sword-shape until they're needed, but it's comforting to have something to hold onto, and it makes sense to be ready to strike. A scan of the first floor means that there's no one who needs to be rescued here. Probably evacuated, since I hear that LexCorp's got a few policies in place in the event of attack. It happens, you know.

I move as quickly as possible through the building, which isn't quite as practical or quick as I'd imagined. I finally just grab a nearby marker, draw a few sigils on the floor, and exert my magical will on them, tracing my power through each design. You have to get to the really high-power entities if you expect to simply draw the correct runes without putting your own power in them. Since I'm not really keen on the idea of summoning extradimensional monsters with seventeen basic senses, I stick to my own inscriptions.

"The lost and innocent lie out of my hands. I sweep them up and examine them with the sight of Theia, that I may transcend the veil of my perception. Call up the truth of their locations and make it plain. Lay it out!" I bark, watching the star-blue light of my magic fluctuate and ripple before it drains from the marks, leaving bare carpet behind as it forms tendrils to wrap around my hands. These'll lead me to the workers if I've done it correctly. If not, I've wasted precious magic and these tendrils won't leave for a while.

I wince as their hooks sink into my skin, discarding the grimace for a stoic expression as I begin to follow them to the corporate drones. Most are unharmed but unconscious, and I wake each with a spark of electricity to the back of the neck. A warding against ordinary danger drawn on their wrists with the marker I borrowed should give them enough protection that no one will jump down my throat for endangering civilians.

When I finish up with the last man, I frown at a hole in the wall. The pattern's too regular to be man-made, which means a machine. Someone installed technology to protect whatever's near here- and failed if I'm to go by the wrecked metal bits that were clearly weapons disguised as floor lamps.

_Ooh, looks like Luthor's bots aren't as tough as he'd like to think, _I snark to myself as I poke my head through the hole.

Sure enough, a short and well-muscled figure is standing near the computer terminal, cursing to herself in various languages. The most I can make out is something along the lines of "Luthor, did you really have to install safeguards this good?" Not in words that nice, though. A few choice references to the business titan's sexual preference, parentage, and legitimacy are sprinkled throughout.

To my credit, I try to sneak up on Deathknell. Have you ever tried to stealth-attack a professional assassin before, though? I thought so. So don't make me out to be incompetent. Of course she noticed.

The blonde turns to me, a lazy smile crossing her features and putting me on edge instantly. In my experience, you _do not _underestimate anyone who's achieved a lot in a dangerous profession, no matter how silly they seem. It's either a facade, in which case the person in question is both a good actor and very deadly, or natural, in which case said wacko is either well-connected as well as dangerous or exceptionally skilled for others to overlook the silliness. I might disapprove of unprofessional behavior, but at this social level I can't do anything about it and I shouldn't try.

"An Atlantean, huh? Villains: 1, Heroes: 2." She says slyly, toying with her gloves. I tense. "You don't look as dangerous as the other one. Not as dangerous as your partner, either."

I don't change my expression or my tone, replying in an even voice, "I cannot contradict your assessment of my superior, the leader Blue Beetle. My skills are a pale shadow of his." No point in trying to figure out her comments now, especially with the adrenaline surging into my system. All that's in my head now is the thought that she's wrong if she thinks I'm not called a hero for good reason, dead wrong. I know stronger spells than any of them guess, and even my physical skills aren't as poor as my allies would like to think. It's all a matter of whether I'm ready to get dangerous, to unleash my capabilities with only the barest restraint. And when it comes down to the line, I am quite ready to fight dirty. I hold to a code of honor, but I value my life over my honor.

She chuckles. "Stiff, aren't ya? I don't believe it for a second, though." The eyes above her smile are as cool as my own. "Oh, and just to avoid the motive questioning, their tech support was really slow. You look like the kind who tries to understand the baddies."

My temper flares to life, and my wicked grin startles Deathknell and me alike. "I do not need to understand you to beat your body into oblivion, Deathknell. Nor do I need you to believe any of my lies." I form a pair of swords from my water-bearers and charge her.

I don't expect her to just take the blow, and I'm not disappointed. The blonde woman's gloves were hiding long blades, attached to a band of metal on the knuckles, which she uses to shove one blade away and block the other, following up with a stab towards my throat. Of course I parry that and swing at somewhere around her stomach with mace-shaped water. Deathknell's arm takes the blow, making a twistedly satisfying crunch, coupled with a clang. Looks like someone was smart enough to wear armor, though not the kind that can withstand the strength of a fight-happy Atlantean.

She kicks me in the jaw, leaping backwards and out of reach as I stagger back myself. "Huh. Stronger than you look, fishstick." Deathknell quips, barely betraying a hint of pain in her voice.

I lunge for her again, changing my weapon form as often as I need to to block and slash at her. After that, though, it isn't so easy. Now that she knows what to expect from me, I have to fight for every blow and use every ounce of agility I have to avoid my opponent's attack. Sweat drips down my face, trickling off my neck and down my back. The thinking part of me is almost submerged beneath instinct.

In short, it's glorious. Don't mistake me- war is torture and fear, blood and death and sorrow. I know. I fought in the purist rebellion and watched my war band get slaughtered as the purists tried to torture magical knowledge out of me. They'd never kill a pureblood with useful knowledge. That's another screwed-up story, though. Battle, however, brings me to life. Reacting, uncaging the beast within, hardly feeling the pain through the bloodlust and savage joy, that's a delight I try to pretend to hate most of the time, even to myself. And then the fight comes, and I can't deny it any longer.

Our ensuing battle is fierce and vicious. She slashes at me with the claw-like blades, punching and kicking and grappling with me. For my part, I bludgeon her with war-hammers, try to cut her down with swords, and attempt to smash her brains in with a flail. Guess that's how I am in the dark, destroying threats without a second thought as soon as no one's looking.

When a lull comes, we're both bruised, torn, and exhausted. My lungs burn harshly from panting. Never shouting, though. It could attract Jaime's attention, and wastes precious oxygen, after all. No true stoic would ever yell._ Aquagirl_ would never yell, and who am I to deny others their desired image of Aquagirl?

Neither of us speak, watching the other for any cues that might end the fight. Like someone keeling over, perhaps.

"A-any other tricks up your sleeve?" Deathknell gets out.

Plenty of them, but not many I'd show her. The five elemental seals, for one. Each requires increasing amounts of blood, meant to be used in order. At least some of the blood has to be the user's, too. That's not something I want to use at this point, though. I have something else that might do the trick...

"Spears of Pan, impale. The shards of earth's bones strike without warning and pierce the foe. The corpse blooms like a flower upon the precipice!" I intone softly, quick but deliberate in each of my words. I thrust one palm towards the ground, jabbing my index finger forwards immediately after completing the motion.

Regular human assassins are not trained to avoid magic spells, particularly ones that are obscure enough to be tucked away at the back of an Atlantean library. The concrete spikes that rip up from the ground hit their target, mainly outlining her body and pinning her in place, though a few do stab Deathknell. She's rather less dignified about the whole thing than I expected, screaming in pain as blood spurts from the wounds.

A laugh bubbles out from me, soft and almost nervous, far more feminine than I imagine she would have guessed. Just in time for the slight tap of feet on the ground behind me, and a frantic Blue Beetle to exclaim,

"Aquagirl! You okay?!"

Well, isn't this just lovely. No one ever means it when they say that, and I'm no exception. Perfect timing for hysterical laughter. And yet I'm struck by the bizarre desire to laugh, because I have _beaten _her. She's groaning there because of what _I _did, and I've actually won against someone good enough that "Figure it Out for Yourself" Nightwing warned us about her.

_I won._

I try to hold the shaky sounds back, but somehow I can barely restrain the laughter from becoming louder as I turn to face Jaime to see the look of shock and horror on his face. And then that intention goes out the window, because the idea that I've surprised him by letting the mask slip a bit is hilarious right now. I laugh my head off at him, at Deathknell, at the absurdity of everything, almost doubling over until the pain of the action jolts me back to reality.

Needless to say, I stop laughing after that.

My teammate doesn't wait for the answer, letting his gaze travel behind me to the bloody body there.

"W-what did you _do_?! You were supposed to yell for me if you found her!" Blue Beetle shouts, panic evident in his voice. Maybe it's because he knows that I'm the one with healing capabilities, and he's not, meaning he can't do anything to save her himself, and probably thinks I'm not willing. "I don't know how it is in Atlantis, but this isn't how heroes work here!"

With a massive amount of willpower, I force a calm expression on my face. It might be strained, but hopefully that'll keep me from exploding long enough to calm down for real.

"I-I-I was not thinking. I knew that there were innocents in your sector as well and thought only to delay her long enough for you to finish there and call you if I couldn't handle her, Leader Blue Beetle." Acting as if I had a different plan and was looking out for others should work. Heroes tend to prioritize others' lives, after all. "I do not- I cannot- what have I done?" What have I done indeed? There's a woman bleeding out because of me, because I _impaled her with concrete spikes. _And I'm barely feeling remorse? What's wrong with me?

The act of actually thinking about it suddenly sends emotion crashing through me, remorse and terror and sorrow overwhelming my defenses to the point that only years of practice keep the stoic facade up. Even then, a perfectly calm person could read the emotions on my face like a book. Thankfully, Jaime's freaking out and doesn't pick up on it.

"Maybe _killed someone_, that's what!" He cries. "Look, I'm ordering you as the leader to fix it! Just do something!"

I stand there for a second before nodding and rushing over to her. Deathknell moans and tries to flinch away from me. I don't blame her.

I can't even process a healing spell mentally, trembling fingers reaching into my hair for one of the beads there and drawing it out. I cup it in my palms, murmuring the cantrip twice before I can get it right. I press my hands, and the bead, into her chest, frantically hoping that I haven't slipped up. The tiny part of me that's left even slightly coherent wonders about my priorities there, but I ignore it and Blue Beetle's Spanish mutterings. I can fix it. I can fix her.

Slowly, agonizingly, the wounds start to patch up as the stored magic in the charm heals Deathknell. Gashes mend and bruises heal before my eyes, and judging from the fact that the magic continues to drain out, internal wounds are being repaired as well. I leave the stone in her body in case it's keeping her from bleeding worse. I'm no medic, and that's advanced medicine anyway.

When it's just a trinket again, I toss the bead aside and glance up at Jaime. I can hear my voice giving some sort of apology, and see the hesitant nod that my mission commander gives, but routine is overtaking me again, following the procedure I've built up for dealing with surface-worlders without my conscious decision. Who knows what I've just said? Maybe an apology for lying to everyone, maybe a confession, and I don't have the energy to care.

The trip back is a blur of pain and questions and shadows to me. The shadows of bruises still visible on Deathknell's skin, the shadows of Nightwing's uniform, the shadows that I want to blend in with at Mount Justice, the shadows that gradually overtake my vision as I'm sedated to keep me from going into hysterics. Why can't there be a little light?

**- I am a line break, ending the story-**

_Well, that was eventful. A monster chapter, with a bit of sanity slippage to boot. This took a lot of time for me to write. Oh, and twistedly is indeed a word. It's in the Oxford English Dictionary, last I checked._


	23. Reveal and Recovery

_It's another Kaldur-centric chapter! Imagine that, I can actually step out of Morgan's shoes and talk through someone else. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. I hope you enjoy this bit as much as my last one! This'll largely be faithful to the episode "Complications."_

_Song for the chapter: "Scream" by Thousand Foot Krutch. Yes, them again._

**-I am a line break, beginning the story-**

Even on a submarine deep in the Atlantic Ocean, we receive news. News of ordinary happenings, such as presidential elections and fighting in Bialya, and less mundane news, such as the near-killing of the assassin Deathknell, once affiliated with the League of Shadows, by Morgan'auli.

I found that out today, when a soldier came into my room with two cups of coffee, drinking from one himself, and English muffins. Sweet, creamy, and hazelnut-flavored, almost sickening. The flavoring turned out to be the most popular among the men here, so the first chance we had, we picked some up on land. The anonymity of that visit was almost freeing, thought not quite, what with the wardrobe modifications I had to make. It's very strange to walk into an ordinary grocery store with your supervillain father to buy loads and loads of coffee. We ended up having to go to no less than seventeen other stores to get sufficient supplies.

He tossed a few sheets of coffee-stained paper, haphazardly stapled together, at Tigr-at _Artemis_, I remind myself. She gave him a curt nod and picked it up to take a look in between sips of coffee. You would think that I would have reacted upon hearing her read out the news, but with the things I have seen displayed in our makeshift newspaper, I didn't even blink.

Concrete spikes through the stomach, left thigh, upper right chest, surrounding the blonde, and grazing her, in addition to a broken arm, severe bruising, and multiple cuts of various levels of depth. I absorbed the information slowly, not quite believing that the polite, sweet girl I had known in Atlantis would have ever done that.

In the few times we ever discussed my heroics on the surface world, Morgan'auli was never very impassioned about it, just shyly admiring. I would have described her as demure, but someone in training as a sorcerer who regularly participated in combat magic and other offensive techniques cannot really be called demure. I wouldn't have pegged her as the type to travel what amounts to halfway across the world for us to fight superhuman criminals, or the type to come very close to murdering a person. Then again, Tula was almost the same way, if a bit more active in trying to change the world around her, and she laid down her life for others just as readily.

I watched the daughter of Sportsmaster absently flip through the rest of the pages. Mainly an assessment of my former classmate's threat level- upgraded from being barely a threat at all to being on the advanced side of moderate threat level- and an account of the losses at LexCorp. It's been a slow week, evidently.

Miss Martian sat there, listening, before she and I plunged back into my psyche to talk over our plans. Black Manta delivered an ultimatum today: fix my son in the next 24 hours or die, and we need to get her out of here soon. Later Artemis joined us, when the man had gone- Selar'uha, I think his name is, a rebel from the city-state of Nanauve.

Perhaps I should explain exactly why my green-skinned friend is in my mind and fixing it. M'gann thought that I had killed Artemis, thanks to Nightwing's secrecy, and ripped my mind apart. She discovered the ruse while essentially trashing my memories and realized it too late. Now my father has kidnapped her to the Manta Flyer, using an inhibitor collar to give her access to telepathy only while Deathstroke the Terminator, as his full title goes, follows us just out of range of her powers. If Miss Martian tries to do anything to get free, he will see it on the security cameras and blow her up.

Psimon lies nearby in a catatonic state as well, caused by Artemis's poison. When he recognized her mental signature, Artemis had no choice but to use a formula devised originally by Sportsmaster to paralyze him and put him into a coma, unable to use his telepathy. Thanks to her quick thinking, my father believes that Miss Martian planted a telepathic virus in my mind that only she is immune to, and we now have another ally aboard this ship. If I didn't know that Deathstroke was watching, I would have knelt in front of my blonde former teammate and given her my eternal gratitude.

I was hardly surprised when my psychic world looked like Atlantis, albeit in ruins. My home is a core part of me, everything about it governing me regardless of where I happen to be. The emphasis on stoic strength, on politeness, on following the rules, and above all the intertwining of magic and science are what I miss most about my home. It isn't that the surface world is chaotic, or rude, or dramatic, or anything like that, though it can be. But sometimes I don't want to have to make all these twisted choices with cold cruelty and give the expected speeches about so-called "noble goals." I just want to follow my king's orders again, just as I did when I first came here.

But I cannot go back to that time, can I? It does not matter what I want, only what _is. _None of us can relive the past.

Now I sit here in this hospital bed, motionless save for breathing and the occasional blink. I have a million unscratched itches, and dry lips, and a deep need to relieve myself, but at this point I value my mission and my life over minor physical needs.

It's at that point that we decide to put the plan into action. Tigress-Artemis trades places with Selar'uha, nominally to get coffee. The truth is, she is going to switch Miss Martian's collar off so she can escape. It is risky, and possibly fatal to all of us, but any chance is better than no chance.

Three anxious minutes later, a flash of green and white with a mane of dark hair lands in the room and takes out the trooper there with ease. Cheshire immediately turns to me, moving in for the kill, when Miss Martian knocks her blade away. I see the flat, solid green of M'gann's eyes and know instantly that she's trying to tell the assassin about the situation. Hope springs in me for a second.

I shouldn't have hoped that anything good would happen. The telepath's eyes dim as her collar sparks, flickering back to life. _Deathstroke. _It isn't hard to figure out that he's responsible for this, and my jaws clench in anger. Is it so impossible for Neptune to give us a small victory?

Gunshots sound from the corridor, and then a massive bang makes my hands twitch slightly with desire to cover my ears, not only because of the battle going on, but also because Cheshire is berating M'gann for her willingness to heal me. The half-Vietnamese woman suddenly turns and stabs the door controls with her sword, halting the troopers' attempt to protect me. I no longer know who I would rather have kill me: my father when he discovers my deception if Cheshire, and likely Sportsmaster if she wants vengeance, are defeated, or Cheshire herself, hellbent on killing me in the most painful way possible.

Miss Martian snatches up Selar's blaster and attempts to shoot Cheshire. At least, that is how it would appear to Deathstroke- it is clear to me that she is not trying to hit my attacker at all, and probably clear to Cheshire as well. Sure enough, the camera explodes in a shower of sparks, metal, and glass. At once my former teammate begins to explain, but she receives unconsciousness for her troubles.

I cannot sit here and watch any longer. M'gann's life is in danger. All of our lives are in danger.

I slide out of the bed, feeling long-unused muscles protest and stiff joints creak.

"Cheshire, peace! Your sister Artemis is alive, and aboard this ship!" I plead with her, the desperation in my voice all too obvious, and probably very suspicious.

Almond eyes narrow behind the mask's lenses. "Well well. Looks like the murderer's not as helpless as he pretends. Does Daddy Dearest know?" She lunges forwards, and before I can do anything about it, I'm fighting against a very tight choke hold.

"You murdered her! You destroyed Malina Island, and you're working for the opposite side, you worthless freak!" Cheshire snarls. "I'm going to cut you open and see if you're really as heartless as you act!"

Before I can free myself, and before she can follow through on that promise, the world around me explodes in a burst of fire and metal. Pain screams through me as the door knocks me to the ground, Cheshire being nimble enough to avoid a similar fate and charging the person behind the door. I feel rather than hear the crackle of electricity through my magic, and a thud tells me that my rescuer has fallen. From the heaviness of the sound, my father will be down for a while.

Cheshire advances on me almost leisurely, then stabs at me in a sudden swift motion with her sai, gleaming with poison as they did all those years ago with Dr. Roquette. I wish that I could say that a strange calm washes over me, accepting of death, but all I know in that moment is fear and desperation.

All at once, I am no longer in that room. Instead, I stand in a dimly lit bedroom, posters plastered on the wall above two small beds. Tigress-Artemis and Cheshire's eyes widen almost in unison. It does not take a genius to figure out that this is from their shared childhood. I have been to the Crock household, and a glance around tells me that this is indeed the same room.

"Get out of my head, Martian!" The dark-haired woman snaps. "You don't have a right to be here!"

Tigress-Artemis shakes her head, cats-eye-yellow pendant swinging as she does. "She isn't in _your _head, Jade, she's in mine. Get it right." Her voice is a strange blend of Artemis's and Tigress's voices, each one growing stronger as the other weakens in between words.

M'gann steps forward, holding her hands up in what I suppose is an attempt to calm us all down, Sportsmaster in particular.

"Neither Kaldur nor Tigress are who they appear to be." She waves one hand, and my armor dissolves to be replaced by my Aqualad uniform. "Kaldur is in fact working for the Team to take down Black Manta's organization and the Light from within." Another hand wave, and the Tigress uniform is replaced by Artemis's familiar green costume. "He and Artemis have been working together in a deep-cover mission for months, using a glamour charm to disguise her as Tigress. She never died, but they organized it so that it appeared that way."

I can feel the relief and joy wash out from Cheshire, and her folded arms fall to her side. "Fine. You're off the hook for now, Fishsticks."

Sportsmaster isn't pacified at all, unfortunately for us. "Che. Nice try, but a Martian illusion can't fool me."

Artemis rolls her eyes. "Get us out of here, M'gann. I'll convince this idiot."

The memory-room fades, and I am back in the medical room. Cheshire attempts to complete the stabbing, but I cannot help but think that behind her mask's eerie grin is a smile of her own.

Suddenly both she and Black Manta are sent flying, pinned to the wall by Miss Martian.

"Someone once said that the enemy of my enemy is my friend." The redhead says, dropping Cheshire to the ground as she does.

"Let me finish the job, girly. I've got a blood right to their heads." The assassin replies, twirling one of her sai.

"Afraid not. If anything, I've got claim to them. These two tried to kill me and already killed my teammate." M'gann snaps. "Take this chance before you lose another life, cat."

Cheshire slinks off- as if she ever moves in a way besides slinking. Miss Martian takes a few deliberate steps towards my father, and I know it is my cue to make my "recovery." I shove the door off, tackling her and sending the slight alien sprawling, density-shifting out of the room.

"Kaldur'ahm!" My father cries, embracing me in a crushing hug. "The witch returned you to me!"

In the heat of the moment, with my emotions running high, I am compelled to return the hug, love flowing through me. A stab of emotional pain nearly makes me break away, knowing that I will eventually have to betray this man, but I doubt that I could even if I wanted to, such is the strength of the embrace.

**- I am a line break, changing the scene-**

I stand in front of seven massive screens, my father's arm around me as Queen Bee, Klarion the Witch-Boy, Lex Luthor, the Brain, Ra's al Ghul, Vandal Savage, and the Reach's ambassador look on. The latter two stand directly in front of us, wearing the self-satisfied smiles they always do. The child and hero inside of me agree for once: take a hammer to their faces so they cannot give those smirks again. I shush them mentally, thankful that neither are telepaths.

"My son has been restored." My father says, undisguised happiness in his voice. "Fortunately, the shock of seeing his father in danger finished the cure that the Martian witch started. He is prepared to take up his position as my lieutenant once more." Prepared to continue sabotaging your efforts, but essentially that is the same thing.

Klarion giggles when Black Manta calls Miss Martian a witch, silenced by the glance that Savage gives him.

"The Reach congratulates you and your father, Kaldur'ahm." The alien extends his hand to me, and I take it. We shake, grips firm, and release each other's hands just as businessmen would, formal and curt with no real expression of anything behind it.

I nod, inclining my head slightly. "I thank the Reach, ambassador." More filler words, paying lip service to our alliance without containing any meaning.

A slow baring of teeth that might be mistaken for a smile on another man crosses Vandal Savage's face.

"Darkness has been cast out of Kaldur'ahm, and the light shines once more." He says.

Klarion of all people starts the clapping, maybe mocking at first, but the other members of the Light take it up and soon even the ambassador takes it up, as politely as he does everything.

"Welcome back, young man." Lex Luthor tells me. "Welcome back."

**- I am a line break, ending the story-**

_So, there you go. I have the sneaking suspicion that my handling of the time of the events of canon is seriously off, but so be it. I can barely keep track of homework as it is._


	24. Masks and Murder

_Ah, the perks of being a troper. I know which devices are interesting to leave out or contradict, which ones are rare and intriguing, and which ones border on cliche. But enough about me- you'll be hearing from Morgan this chapter._

_Song for this chapter: "Last One Standing" by Simple Plan_

**- I am a line break, beginning the story-**

Black Canary helps me out of the bed- turns out that as long as I have something to make sure I won't fall over, I'll be fine- and leads me to a small room. Two green armchairs sit in the middle, little stone fountains with waterfalls flowing down their faces dotting the edge. A calm scene, one that might fool me into being more open. Like I ever am.

The blonde woman sits me down in one of the chairs, taking a seat opposite me.

"Morgan'auli- first off, am I saying your name right?" She asks, startling me. No one's really bothered to use my full name or ask how to say it here, and I didn't think that this stranger- she's one to me, anyway- would be the one who did. Not many get the "ah" sound in the first part of my name right, let alone the "ay-oo" sound of the second part.

I nod. "Yes, you are saying my name right, Lady Black Canary." I reply. Formal and crisp, nice and respectable. _Get to the point, lady!_

The older heroine smiles, almost brightly enough to hide the slight unease in her expression. "Good. Now, I wanted to make sure your mental state was stable before I pried into your personal life." As if I have a personal life. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay?"

I give her the standard smile and nod, of course. I hardly need to say that, though.

"What's the strongest emotion you're feeling right now?" Black Canary asks, tapping her fingers on the armrest.

Irritation, mainly, but I'm not going to tell her that. "I just woke up, Black Canary. I'm mainly feeling surprise that one of your rank bothered with one as lowly as myself." I answer, lacing my fingers together.

"Interesting. Morgan'auli, are you aware that I have taken lessons from Batman on observation and know a lot about psychology? I'm actually licensed to counsel people."

Well, _su'nisa. _That can't be good for me.

Sure enough, it isn't. "It's helpful for me to know about a person and how they act normally so I can spot warning signs if their mental health is deteriorating. From what I've heard, you very consistently assign titles to people based on perceived social status and don't use contractions. Any particular reason you just broke that pattern twice?" Black Canary tilts her head at me, leaning forward and resting her chin on her palm.

_Esti e'tse'leks... _I curse, staying silent outwardly. I didn't realize that. I need to be more careful around her.

"If I'm not going to get an answer to that, let's move on to the next question. Contrary to popular opinion, I don't have eternity to spend with you."

That stings me a bit, and my fingers tighten in their laced position.

"Have you been feeling unexplained surges of anger recently?" Blue eyes survey me, and it takes a good deal more self-control for me to not open the floodgates on my true thoughts.

"No, I have not, Lady Black Canary." I respond, unlacing my fingers and letting them sit in my lap.

"Any feelings of superiority or excessive frustration? Adjusting to life in another country with another culture can be hard." She says.

"None except with my homework, Lady Black Canary!" I give a false laugh. "I honestly do not understand how you manage with English!"

Black Canary sits up straight, releasing a frustrated sigh. "Here's a little more education on how English works, then. 'Honestly' means 'truthfully', and you are hardly being truthful, that much is clear to me." She shuffles a few papers sitting on the square table beside the chair and selects one.

"Nightwing and Robin have picked up on a few things you might not have realized you were doing- you try not to touch your teammates when at all possible, for one thing. I know that it's part of Atlantean culture to be polite, but the rest of your people tend to be polite while actually adapting to our customs. You've kept your society's rules to a ridiculous extent." Black Canary holds up her hands as if to tell me to slow down. "Many people do that, but they do tend to eventually adapt to the behavior of their new society. And in your case, it seems to be a purposeful barrier between you and your teammates. Nightwing and Robin mentioned that the way you act rings false on multiple levels. After the incident at LexCorp- we're _worried, _Morgan'auli."

I tense, prepared to concoct what would be translated literally from the Atlantean idiom as 'the dust and pebble cloud made by a fleeing octopus.' In surface-world terms, a load of bull.

"We're worried that it might be an unintentional defense mechanism, that it might be actually hurting you to act this way."

Her face softens slightly, concern written all over it. More paper shuffling, and the quick glimpse I get of the one she moves onto the top of the mess of paper looks like Serious Business. Aka, some official dirt on me. On the bright side, it looks like they've taken a good look at me and gone with something completely different than the truth. Can't hurt to let them run with it, I guess. Why does it seem like people keep thinking they've figured me out when I slip up? Honestly. They've got the idea that I'm a weakling trying to project the shell of a strong fighter. Idiots. It's the exact opposite.

"Your military record says that you were the sorcery specialist of the Psi-Rho band in the third battalion of the second century of the seventh cohort."

Black Canary makes a face at the name. I can't say it's at all tidy in Atlantean either.

"You went to one of the eastern city-states to stamp out a nest of purists with the rest of your band during the rebellion. Reports underestimated their numbers, or maybe the cave system went deeper than you thought. Regardless, your band went in to take them out. You hung back for long-distance attacks, or maybe it was just cowardice."

_Cowardice? She _dares _accuse me of cowardice? I would have given my life for them! I would've! I was just too slow! _I rage in my head, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself.

The blonde breezes right past the signs of anger that I must be broadcasting. "Whatever it was, they were slaughtered in front of you and the purists tried to take you captive. According to the reports...you were found soaked in blood and surrounded by corpses. We think that might've triggered a desire to distance yourself from others, as you had no memory of what happ-"

_Subtlety and lies can go rot in the pits of Hades. _I slam my now-clenched fist into the arm of the chair, sending sparks lancing out as I shriek, "That's a lie! Shut the hell _up, _you filthy blonde harlot! I killed every one of those less-than-people, I slaughtered each one myself and those pathetic scum deserved it! The only reason I told everyone that was so they wouldn't charge me with war crimes! And as far as I'm concerned, you're lucky I got tired of playing with Deathknell and your precious little insect stepped in!" I scream the last sentence in Atlantean, having either the self-control to not directly tell her that or too much blind rage to stay in English._  
_

Black Canary drops the stack of papers she's holding, eyes going very wide as her skin visibly pales a few tones. Let the masks fall, let them come crashing down. I'm too furious to care right now, and a furious Atlantean warrior who's just discarded almost every pretense of politeness is a terrifying thing.

"W-what?" She stammers, fumbling for something to say. "B-but your files don't record any kind of power that could-"

I'm powerless to stop the avalanche of wrath that comes tumbling out of me. Would I want to even if I could? I doubt it. I need to hurt someone, I need to let loose, and this woman is in my path. "Those _esti _files can burn for all I care! All they show is surface-world ignorance! I'm not weak like you think!" My braids click together as I jerk my head up to look her dead in the eye. "Stop pretending to know every inch of me. You think I'm the harmless little nice girl, all you want to see is someone who won't cause problems to replace that _si'nac _Tula, but I haven't shown you anything but baby magic!"

Another bizarre, mocking smile crosses my features as I surge to my feet. Maybe not so bizarre, considering the fact that I've been wanting to rip someone a new one for a long time. This feels _amazing. _"Idiot! Keep thinking I'm Tula and I'll show you everything I taught myself since Kaldur left! I could tear your ribs out one by one and rip your tongue to shreds! I could seal a second-circle demon into your skin and watch its fire flay you alive, or turn you into a living bomb that could never touch anyone you loved without exploding! So shut up and stop with your _stupid _assumptions, _xe'dauc_!"

An expression somewhere between terror, horror, and confusion is on Black Canary's face as she stands suddenly. "I'll-let Orin know you're back at full power." The blonde says shortly. "We'll talk again soon. Just go back to bed or something." She backs away a few steps before simply turning and fleeing the room.

I sit there for a few seconds, heart beating fast and blood roaring through my ears before it hits me, it being a wave of weariness and realization. I've told a League member about my full capabilities, confessed to lying and mass murder- even if it was after they murdered my allies and did _things _to me-, possibly confirmed that I know Kaldur well, since only friends called him Kaldur, and screamed insults at a senior heroine. _U'ehe. _

Strangely, I don't feel much remorse for it. Anger and shock towards myself, and sadness and fear of punishment, but no remorse. What have I become? Or what am I becoming?

I don't know, but I can't dwell on it. She insulted me first, calling me cowardly, and just assumed, assumed, assumed. I don't feel like I'm in the wrong, and I can't change it.

I stumble back to my room, shooting the passing Superboy a scathing glare as I see him. Let him wonder why and be hurt, if he is at all. I don't give an _i'csum ma'ibit _what anyone thinks right now.

I collapse into bed and lie there for a while, thinking about nothing, before I can fall asleep.

Unconsciousness is a beautiful gift.

**- I am a line break, ending the story-**

_So, how was it? I tend to base angry!Morgan on angry!myself, which equates to maintaining a calm or light-hearted facade for a while and eventually going berserk on someone. And as many of my Tumblr friends can attest, the threat-things are genuinely mine and stuff I would come up with. I wonder, has anyone cracked my Atlantean code?_


	25. Discovery and De-masking

_Let's hope I still have some creative juices left, hmm? I expended a good deal of my creativity recently writing a second chapter to a Bleach fanfic of mine, so this one might or might not be subpar. That's a word, right? Anyway, to those readers who deigned to ask questions about Morgan's (perhaps disproportionate) reactions last chapter, how do you think you'd feel if a member of a group you didn't care for to begin with reminded you of a _very _painful incident in your past, using rather poor word choice, while unintentionally pushing your buttons after you'd recently gone berserk? Wow, that was a long sentence. For those who say TL;DR, Morgan doesn't really like the Justice League much, Black Canary's choice of words gave a different impression to her than intended, and she's tremendously guilty about it and hates assumptions. Also possibly going off the deep end a bit._

_Song for the chapter: "Arise" by Flyleaf._

**-I am a line break, beginning the story-**

I wake up and stumble through my morning routine. Not stumble, precisely, but I don't know of any verb that really describes the hurried but deliberate and thoroughly lethargic motions people go through in the morning. As soon as I'm too annoyed to attempt to get every stray hair into their braids and have most of my beads attached to the proper braids, I flop back onto the surface-world-style bed. Turns out that braids and long hair don't make a great combination when you lie on your back. I can feel each one as if I'm lying on scattered gravel.

I don't feel like getting up and facing the world. I just don't want to deal with the truth, and with awkwardness. I don't want to hear people talking today.

At the same time, I'm not tired, and boredom sets in quickly. I don't feel like doing anything, while simultaneously wanting to do something. Stupid immature mind.

I lie there for a few minutes, mind drifting to Atlantis as it always does when I have nothing better to do. I miss the volume of power I had there. It's only natural for people who live in water to learn magic that manipulates it, and if you learn enough...well, it's like Robin left alone in a room full of electronics and spare parts. Everything can be weaponized or turned to serve you.

More than that, I miss Kaldur. I miss ready smiles and thoughtful conversation. I miss gentlemanly behavior and loyalty. I miss generosity and the feeling that someone understands. Most of all, I miss how everything was then.

I wanted to learn every secret in the Akashic Archives at the very edge of the Atlantean city-states. I smiled more readily than I ever had and might have made some friends. I don't remember anymore. My memories of that time are gilded with warm currents and mischievous smiles. I felt like a human being, not a pawn that everyone wanted to see differently. I just want to go back then.

My anger and despair have dissipated into the little corners of my mind that I don't want to look at too closely, the ones that contain the memories of messing up a major spell in front of the class or accidentally touching someone in an inappropriate area. I can barely believe that I did it, and my now-self is yelling at my past-self angrily with every curse from every Atlantean dialect that I know. And plenty of English ones, too. That person who screamed at Black Canary wasn't me. She couldn't have been me, because I'm more self-controlled than that. But she was me.

A knock comes from the door, irritation welling up in me instantly. Alright, so I wasn't actually in the middle of anything important, but still.

"Come in!" I call, half-heartedly considering sitting up. I don't feel like it, so I stay sprawled over the covers.

King Orin of all people pokes his head in. _Of all people, why is he in here? _I wonder. _I've got to be the least of his problems right now. _

The blond man visibly forces a smile and enters the room, picking the room's sole chair to sit in. I can vouch for the fact that it isn't very comfortable. Austere I get, but picking a chair like that is just plain masochism.

I push myself up into a sitting position, tucking the little wisps of hair that one can't really do anything with behind my ears.

"Good morning, my king." I tell him, offering my own smile. The League probably sent him to talk to me, which stings a bit- I'd rather people actually show concern over me of their own volition. That said, just because this planet's protectors ordered him to do something doesn't mean that he disagrees with it, so I may as well assume that his worry is genuine.

"Good morning, Morgan'auli. Black Canary mentioned that you were...distressed." Aquaman's voice is hesitant and careful. Perfect for not treading on a volatile teenager's toes, except for the fact that the strained tone rubs me the wrong way every time.

I look away, breaking the obligatory eye contact. "I-"

Gently, he interrupts me. "She said that you had been very emotional. Rather angry and threatening towards her." Atlantis's king sighs. "I told her that I couldn't imagine such behavior from you. I just want to know...did you truly kill those purists?"

I blink a few times, irritation shoved aside by my frenzied thinking about how to respond while putting myself in the best light. "Yes, my king. Black Canary is right, as well. I lost my temper and exploded at her. It was thoughtless and stupid of me, and I apologize greatly." I dip my head.

"Morgan, I was hoping that you would have another answer for me." Orin says, voice and expression troubled. "As much as the purists were wrong in their actions, murder in the process of escape isn't right. I can't condone it, and I can't say that a hero would kill like that."

So I was just supposed to let them get away with it? Let them torture me and worse to force me to use my magic for them? I bite my lip. There isn't anything I can say to get me out of this one. "M-my king?" I say hesitantly.

"I don't want to do this, Morgan. You've done good work here, made a good teammate for these young heroes. They like you, and you have the strength to be a hero. But mass murder, it's evil. I have to ask you to give up your uniform and title." He reaches out and lifts my chin up to force me to look him in the eye. "You're going to face prosecution in Atlantis, Morgan. I'm sorry." Wetness is clear in my king's sea-blue eyes, pain and heartbreak written all over him. That little detail irks me to no end. He's supposed to be stoic, a symbol for the people. Can't he leave aside his personal feelings?

Shock rolls through me, ice flooding my veins. If the world could drop out from under me, it would have. Give up the uniform? Fine, even if it is a shame that such craftsmanship will go to waste. Abandon my title? I never considered myself to be a hero in the first place. But having others judge me for my vengeance upon enemies of the crown? How can he say that?

A combination of carelessness and simple lack of desire to inhibit my emotions casts sorrow, outrage, and fear over my face. "Don't make me laugh." I say flatly. "I haven't been a good teammate, just a good pawn in Nightwing's strategies." A bitter huff of air that sounds almost humorous escapes me. "Mass murder? Try vengeance. I'm an avenger, not a hero. I needed to kill them. They deserved it, and anyone who tries to kill me deserves retribution too." I surge to my feet, knuckles white as my fists clench. "Forgive me, _my king, _if I don't share the fear to kill murderers and manipulators that everyone else around here has." I say sarcastically.

I cross the room, pausing before slipping out the door to turn suddenly and punch a dent into the wall. It hurts, and I can feel the raw skin starting to give way to blood, but you know what? Who gives an _el'creh _about pain when you're about to be stripped of hard-earned prestige and tried before a court like criminal scum? I don't, certainly.

"If anyone needs me, I'll be at the beach." I snap.

Five minutes later, I'm standing at the edge of the shore in my uniform and holding my water-bearers, watching the impassive waves brush the pebbles and sand. They don't care either, just do their job day in and day out. At least it turns out that my uniform was sitting in the infirmary, where some genius had thought to change me into a scratchy paper gown. I rectified that and took my weapons as well. If I'm to be leaving, no need to leave technosorcerous weapons lying around on the surface world.

No need to leave them lying around in the possession of the Atlantean government, either. They'll be fine with me in some backwater surface-world nation, I think.

A voice comes from behind me.

"Thinking of leaving?" Nightwing asks calmly. "It'd be a shame to see you go so soon. Better to have an escort anyway, with all the dangers in the ocean. Of course, anything beyond baby magic could fend those off."

I turn my head to see him standing there, Aquaman by his side. Well, I'm well and truly done for now.

"Was it a shame to see Kaldur go so soon as well?" I ask. "Must've been an awful shame to see a loyal man quietly vanish, and such a shame that no one ever found out why." I materialize his signature swords, then let the water composing them flow back into the water-bearers. "Did you know that no one's supposed to mention him in Atlantis? No one's even supposed to tell his close friends what happened. I've waited so long without knowing if the man I love died, did you know that? The great Nightwing knows everything, right?"

I could swear that I see the dark-haired man go a few shades paler. "You knew Kaldur?" He asks incredulously. What, no background checks in the hero business?

"I loved him, like I said. You think I came here because I wanted to go beat up the bad guys? I'm flattered. I really thought I was a worse liar than that." I scoff. "The only reason I ever came to this barbaric place was to find him, and maybe learn a few tricks in the process. So where is he, fearless leader?"

Nightwing's eyes narrow. "Stand down and I'll tell you."

"I value my life and the potential of finding him through other sources more than your deceit. So no, I don't think so." I bite out. I've settled on an incantation to use, and we'll see if I can pull it off.

"Morgan!" Aquaman blurts. "Please, don't do this! We don't want to hurt you. Kaldur'ahm's working for Black Manta, his biological father. It is the truth, I swear to it! Now please stand down. You aren't strong enough to win if we have to use force."

A razor-edged grin spreads over my features, even as internally I can barely process the information. Kaldur would never work for villains. He would never ally with evil. He's Kaldur, the generous, kind man who never lets his friends down and never fails to defeat his foes. Not a cruel monster. That isn't right. It isn't right, it can't be.

Regardless, I have to operate on that for now and process it later. "_I'm _not strong enough? You're right." I laugh. "I am not strong enough, but my magic is. And you haven't seen any of my true ability yet, don't forget."

At once I've snatched one of my water-bearers and slashed the back of my left forearm, blood welling up, immediately illuminated by the brilliant star-blue light of my tattoos.

"The Seals of the Five Elemental Lords." I intone quietly and as hurriedly as I can without actually messing it up, not letting them hear my words. "First Seal: Earth."I press my index and middle fingers together on both hands and lock them together.

The brief realization that I've struck first on their faces is priceless.

The solid ground they stand on, just beyond the beach's mainland-facing edge, caves in, spikes of stone bursting out inside the pit to impale anyone who is unfortunate enough to get in their way. Nightwing leaps nimbly through the emerging rock spines to land at the edge of my sinkhole, which begins to crumble as well. His stumbling is the window of opportunity I need to raise a dome of stone and earth to enclose him and begin to tighten it.

My king has emerged, bleeding slightly from the side, from the pit. He stares at me in shock. All Orin ever wanted was to redeem himself after Kaldur vanished, if my guess is correct, and so he tried so hard to pick a worthy sidekick and overlook her flaws. He needed to believe that someone was uncorrupted, that I could make up for his failures. I don't know why he's so surprised, really. I never professed to love justice.

"You can save Nightwing, and use his expertise and skills later to do more good, or go after me, let him die, and _maybe _catch me, if you don't end up hurt worse." I sneer. "Your choice. As long as my wound is open and I'm within a mile, I can still attack."

With that, I turn and enter the waiting water. Truth be told, this spell is draining my reserves more quickly than I'd like, and it isn't easy forcing your mind to be hard, tough, and uncompromising, which earth magic often requires.

He picks saving Nightwing, of course, and I leave as fast as I can, an illusion masking me as soon as I am sure that no one's following me to see the casting and I can safely end the Earth Seal. I know these waters as well as any Atlantean, and I've got the benefit of divination magic to help with navigation.

It turns into a battle of raw willpower and mindless routine after about ten minutes. The magical drain is taking its toll on me, and so is the strain of swimming at top speed as adrenaline wears off.

There're limits to what willpower can do, of course. When I wake up, I'm lying sand-caked on a beach near some trees. I must've passed out and let the current carry me, and the utter lack of strength in my limbs isn't one I can overcome through determination.

Needless to say, I pass out again.

**-I am a line break, ending the story-**

_So that was my latest effort! Something told me it was time for things to come to a head, and that manifested as Morgan finally taking French leave from Young Justice. And finally finding out about Kaldur, too. For the record: she would've been answered had she asked, but the whole thing about even her king not telling her his fate made her paranoid that asking would bring bad consequences onto her._


	26. Assassins and Agreements

_Aaand Morgan's jumped off the slippery slope. Terrific, huh? I'm writing this on the seat of my shorts, so I actually don't plan much of this, just let the story take me wherever it wants to go, so sorry if that was a bit sudden. I swear I'm more thoughtful in real life._

_Song for the Chapter: "Shadows" by RED. Capitalization intended. _

**-I am a line break, beginning the story-**

When I wake up to the sound of someone shouting, there's a sunburn stinging the left side of my face, my back, and my neck. Okay, Atlantean durability doesn't really cover sunburns. Good to know, even if I'd rather not have found out in my lifetime.

But back to the whole 'shouting' thing. As I shove myself into a sitting position, I spot a parked car near the end of my chosen mini-beach jutting out from the mainland. A man is running towards me, kicking up puffs of sand with combat boots that are clearly not designed for the beach. The practical part of me shakes its head at the unsuitable choice of footwear, but I sincerely doubt that most people think of that when they spot a teenage girl collapsed on a beach.

I blink at him sleepily, hands going to the water-bearers in their proper place on my back before I remember that he's a civilian. I won't hurt innocents, no matter how frustrated I might be with the world.

He stops about a foot away from me, dark eyes of an indeterminate color bright with worry beneath knitted brows.

"Hey, kid! What happened? Did someone...?" The man trails off awkwardly before continuing. "Do you need me to call 911?"

I sigh, standing up and glancing at my arms to see that my magic hasn't returned quite enough to project the usually automatic illusion of bare skin.

"No, I'm fine." I offer a thin smile to him with the lie, gears in my head turning as I try to concoct a story. An idea pops into my head: why not try romance? Not between me and him, of course, but a little mention of it might work. "My boyfriend and I took a little trip out here and he went to go buy some breakfast for us."

Admittedly, I don't have much knowledge of love and courtship, but who knows? Fate just might smile on me today.

By now you should know that fate doesn't smile on me, though. The stranger frowns in concern again.

"I don't really know how to ask this...but are you sure he wasn't playing around? There isn't a place to get breakfast for miles around." He says, shifting from foot to foot.

My expression immediately goes flat as I realize that he's caught that lie, and I don't care enough to come up with an explanation. Rather funny that he thought I of all people would be with a surface-world boy at all.

"Sorry. I should've checked out where I was before I told you that." I sigh. "I just wanted to get you to go away, really. What's your name, anyway? I can't just call you 'you.'"

He blinks rapidly in confusion. "Uh, Mike Leonard. What's that got to-"

"Don't know, do you? Doesn't matter much. There wasn't a guy." I brush some of the sand, dirt, and leaves off of myself, exposing the belt buckle. "Dunno if you know my face, but you should know this symbol from somewhere. Basically, it means I'm way stronger than you and I always will be. Buzz off."

Then all confusion drops from his face, a slow grin replacing it. "You sure about that...Morgan? Neither of the Leagues think so, Shadows or 'Justice.'" Leonard scoffs as my eyes narrow in a combination of confusion and suspicion. There aren't many who know my name to shorten it that way.

"But the Shadows want whatever information you have about Atlantis, the League, and its pet team." The dark-haired man continues. "And they recognize that you could be strong without the League's constraints. Maybe work on your ability to lie first." He smirks. "You've been lying here a while. Not too hard for a contact of ours to tip us off that the new fish was stranded here. Regardless, the Great One wants a water-breathing guard for Psimon, and with no time to alter someone to fit the bill, you'll work. No hard feelings about the incident with Deathknell, by the way. She twisted a few contracts."

I cross arms that shimmer mid-movement back to the illusion of plain skin. "There are always conditions. Are the Shadows willing to tell me any of them up front, 'Mike Leonard?'" I ask, not expecting him to tell me anything. He and I both know that I'll take it. Training, a job, and a bit of protection when the League hunts me down? Too good to pass up.

Leonard mirrors the motion. "You'll find that out if we've decided you belong to the Shadows, won't you?" He replies. Meaning if I can fake enough loyalty and prove I'm not a double agent, which would more likely than not result in execution.

"Then I'll just have to show you I'm worthy." I say, dropping my arms to my sides.

"Not me. Sensei and Shrike will determine that." My recruiter starts to turn away before I blurt out, "Wait."

Leonard stops, though he doesn't turn to face me fully. "Yeah?"

"What now? Do we go our separate ways and I contact you later? What?" I demand, trying to replace the calm mask that he's managed to make me drop within minutes of our meeting.

"None of the above." The dark-eyed man says with a sly tone that should've tipped me off to the danger.

But before I can ask what he means, there's a faint stinging sensation on my neck. I have no more than a few seconds to whirl around and spot a lithe man dropping down from the tree behind me before I collapse, weakness coursing through me as my traitorous heart sends the blood carrying the sedative through my veins. A few minutes later and my vision dims, mind dulling with my hearing. I can only trust that they wouldn't kill a potential recruit.

Finally darkness descends over my senses with unconsciousness.

**-I am a line break, changing the scene-**

When I wake up, I'm in an austerely decorated room, austere being defined here as 'nothing but a wood floor, blank, windowless walls, and a bed without bedposts or a headboard.' Guess they don't want any funny business.

Meanwhile, I'm stuck with a mouth that tastes like a dolphin gave birth and died in it. And of course they didn't even see fit to provide me with a glass of water, so there's no changing that.

I shove myself into a sitting position, hands going to where my water-bearers should be but aren't. Not like they'd forget my most obvious weapons. The League of Shadows might be a bunch of sneak thieves with a fanatical devotion to Ra's al-Ghul, but they aren't incompetent fanatical sneak thieves.

Two blank-masked, black-suited figures enter the room through a sliding door that I didn't see initially. They've got uncanny timing. Or cameras watching me. Something tells me the latter is the case. While neither one is visibly armed or musclebound, they're part of a group that assassinates people for a living. There's no way these two don't have a thousand ways to kill me with a toothpick alone.

In any event, Lackey #1, as I've christened him, beckons to me as Lackey #2 stands by the door expectantly.

Having absolutely nothing else to do and no reason to refuse, I rise and follow them out into the hall. It's a rather plain corridor, wood floors and blank walls just like my room. At the end lies a black-lacquered door. Lackey #2 motions for me to head down the hall. Are these two mimes or something?

I take a step forwards before stopping. Something's off, just a bit.

A glance at the walls and ground reveals that they aren't as plain as I thought. Thin lines on the floor look as suspiciously clean as the cuts of a blade, and tiny holes on the walls gleam ever-so-slightly with the tips of metal darts poking through. A Shadows-style test, the kind that kills you if you fail.

I turn with a deadpan expression to them. "Trying to kill me so soon? I'd electrocute you if I didn't think you were prepared for that."

The featureless china masks hide my escorts' reactions, but I doubt they're surprised. This League isn't as idiotic as its heroic counterpart when it comes to recruiting. They wouldn't pick someone they thought was too stupid to see the trap.

I scan the corridor around me, finding a tile with the slightest tinge of oil to it, as if it's been touched by human hands before. A deliberate clue that I'm sure has been left for me to find, but hey, whatever works. I walk over and press it with my own palm, making a panel slide back and to the side, revealing a low table with a red tablecloth covering it, a black snake's head patterning the cloth. A green-and-gold-clad man kneels by it, grey in his dark hair.

I enter, noting as I turn to kneel at the table that the Lackeys were behind me the whole time, steps too quiet for me to notice.

"May I assume that you are the aforementioned Great One?" I ask hesitantly.

The man's lips curl up slightly. "You may, child, but it isn't wise to assume in this line of work." He replies. "In this case, you are correct. I am Ra's al-Ghul. Kirigi and White Ghost brought you to me with the promise that you would have information and the potential to work as a guard for our catatonic friend Psimon. You are willing?"

I smirk. "Of course. I'll do my best with anything you throw at me."

Ra's nods. "Not confident enough to make promises? We take oaths seriously in the League of Shadows, though I doubt that Aquaman would lead you to think anything good of us."

I'm hesitant to respond. Is this a verbal trap? No use wasting time thinking of an answer.

"Not magically gifted enough to see the future." I reply. "I take my oaths seriously too. I won't make a promise that I don't know if I can keep, especially with someone who has not yet made an official contract with me."

I can't tell if the chuckle he makes next is genuine or not. "Few can see the threads the Fates weave, child. One thing I can say for certain: you will spend the next day with Shrike and Sensei. They only need that long to determine if you will thrive with us or die unworthy."

I know I'm worthy. The question is, can I prove it?

**-I am a line break, ending the story-**

_I don't really have any comments to make here, but I thought I'd put this here because it's habit. See you next week!_


	27. Attacks and Assessments

_For future reference, my dear readers, all canon events take place in this story unless mentioned and written about by me. I just don't see the point in writing about what you already know and talking about events that Morgan wasn't actually there for. It might have something to do with the fact that I'm lousy at maintaining mental timelines._

_Song for the chapter: "Not Without a Fight" by Pillar._

**-I am a line break, beginning the story-**

I'm taken down to the depths of the compound by the Lackeys. Apparently they're part of families that have served the Shadows for generations, which explains why I see others dressed identically around the place. The uniform's something about erasing the identity given to you by the outside world and emerging with your identity firmly rooted in the world of the assassins. Pretentious, if you ask me.

No one does ask me, though. It's expected that I'll use my superhuman talents in the service of Ra's al-Ghul for the rest of my life, so I don't have to wear that outfit just yet. The members of the metahuman branch of the Shadows tend to wear personalized uniforms that fit with the weaknesses and strengths of their powersets. It doesn't really make sense to have a four-armed man wearing the same thing as an ordinary human, after all. So if I manage to not get beaten into a fine mist by Shrike and Sensei, I'll eventually be allowed to switch over to another costume.

Eventually we arrive at a spacious cavern. Sitting in front of me are my water-bearers, clean and untainted by surface-world hands to my cursory glance. I bend down and pick them up cautiously, beads clicking. Either the Shadows can't tell that I enchanted them all, or they know I'm not powerful or stupid enough to use them to escape.

Behind me, the door I entered through slides shut. As expected, there's no way to reopen it from this side or even a way to tell there was ever a door there in the first place. When I turn around again, two men are standing in front of me. One, a whip-thin Asian man, carries ornate but still very deadly-looking katar in his hands, while the other, a red-clad man with a short white beard and longer hair, scowls at me with dark eyes, one of them scarred. Two people I definitely wouldn't like to meet in a dark alley.

To be safe, I bow from the waist.

"Are you Sensei and Shrike?" I ask, keeping as much emotion as possible out of my voice.

Neither one replies in the affirmative, but the old man says, "The Great One instructed us to test your mettle, fish. You'll receive answers if you pass."

I nod, keeping my eyes on both of them. "I expected nothing less. Test me in any way you choose."

An uncomfortably wide smile appears on his companion's face. "Let's begin."

Shrike begins to circle me, his eyes pinpointing my weaknesses as sharply as his namesake's. "First off, discard your name. You won't need to think of yourself as anything here. If you do well, you'll get to pick another name and identity." He snorts. "Aquagirl was a stupid name to start with."

So it wasn't just me who thought that. First time anyone's said that to my face, though.

"Second, draw those weapons of yours and turn them into whatever suits you. This'll start your weapons training."

I have barely enough time to form them into flails before he lunges forward to attack.

I swing for his chest and miss as he sidesteps it and lets one of the flails wrap around his left hand's katar, using my momentary confusion to move in and aim for my stomach with his right hand's dagger. Unsurprisingly, Shrike doesn't pull any punches.

I bring my left hand's flail across my body to seize his wrist and pull him in towards me, twisting out of the way and aiming a kick for his neck. I find myself on the ground shortly, surging back to my feet and morphing my water-bearers into short swords to block his katars and slash at his upper chest.

I connect, but only because of the element of surprise. I don't think that knowing what your opponent is capable of in your head prepares you perfectly for the moment when they actually use their abilities.

The dark-haired man hisses in pain, suddenly moving right to my face with one katar at my throat and the other held at my back.

"That's against the rules, fishstick. Stick with one weapon at a time so I can really assess your skills." He growls.

"I didn't realize my powers would be limited in such a way in a real combat situation," I snark in reply. "But if you insist, I can do that." I shift the swords back into flails and wrap one of them around our waists, pinning us together and giving me the brief sting of a blade's edge on my back and neck. I bring the other one around in as fluid a motion as I can to slam the ball on the end into his ribcage.

Naturally, it's met by the clang of metal, but he's going to have a nasty bone bruise there for a while. I hope so, anyway.

Shrike slips out of my left flail's chain quickly, directing a flurry of blows at all my most vulnerable points in the seconds afterwards. I block each one as best I can with the hilts of my flails, moving to dodge each time just in case I don't parry the attack correctly.

Most of them hit, and I'm bleeding from a dozen holes when the storm of blades ends.

"Switch to another form, death seeker. We'll test that next."

The rest of the weapons testing goes pretty much like that, with me trying my hardest to kill him with one weapon and him trying his best to do the same until I'm allowed to switch to the next style.

When I'm soaked in blood and fighting with all my willpower to stay on my feet, Shrike jerks his head at my water-bearers.

"Drop those. Let's see if you're any less pathetic at unarmed combat."

I drop the weapons with shaking hands and kick them away, taking a battle stance in preparation for this vicious little _si'nac _to strike first.

He doesn't disappoint, aiming a jab at my right shoulder first and dislocating the other when I block the first blow with my left wrist. A gasp of pain escapes me, and I retreat hurriedly. No fancy backwards flips or one-handed handsprings- which I can't do regardless of the situation, but Robin can easily pull off-, just backing up with long steps.

I swear at him in Atlantean, questioning everything from the fidelity of the past five generations of his family to his sexual preference in species. Most dialects of Atlantean don't have many native curses- after all, why curse at someone when you can literally curse them?- but we tend to make up for that in sheer creativity.

"Got a dirty mouth, do you? Never would've guessed." Shrike snarls in a heavily-accented version of the same language.

I keep my mouth shut to prevent all of my insulting eloquence from being lost in an incoherent retort, but I force my shuddering body back into a fighting stance and charge him again. This time, I hop rather unimpressively over the leg sweep he tries and trip him, aiming my working elbow into his throat as he falls. Before Shrike can get up, I direct sharp kicks to his stomach, knees, and his left shoulder.

I'm rewarded with the sound of cracking bone in his shoulder and a sound that I can't precisely identify but wouldn't want to hear coming from my own body coming from his knees. Pain screams through my foot when I kick his stomach, which is plated in metal. I'm fairly certain that I've broken my big toe.

"Not quite so pathetic, fish." Shrike says in a tightly controlled voice, getting to his feet somewhat unsteadily. "Sensei, think she's ready?"

The white-haired man flicks a small drop of blood off of his robes distastefully. As if you'd notice with the color scheme he has going on.

"The Atlantean will require more training overall, particularly in stealth. She barely meets expectations as it is." Sensei replies coldly, turning away and beginning to walk to the other side of the cavern. "The League of Shadows will provide medical attention for both of you. See that you heal quickly." He vanishes into the deep shadows that surround the dimly-lit training area without another word.

After that, more of the masked people enter and bring us both through a maze of corridors to separate, though I guess that his is as sanitized as mine, rooms. One of them directs me to lie down on a pallet-like bed, which I do, while another makes a blink-and-you'll-miss-it movement towards my exposed right forearm that I only notice because of the slight flash of metal in his? her? its? I can't quite tell hands. As what I presume is a needle is extracted from my flesh, a blue-clad man and woman enter the room.

The last thing I see before the sedative takes effect is their faces looking clinically down at me.

**-I am a line break, ending the story-**

_So there you have it. For those of you who might be wondering why I had the Shadows approach Morgan so soon after her defection, I imagined that they wouldn't waste any time picking up a potentially valuable asset, particularly when she's most vulnerable emotionally. This is kind of a useless bit of trivia, but I imagine that she would use a style resembling Leopard-style Kung Fu. I always appreciate your reviews, criticism, and comments!_


	28. Costumes and Changes

_I don't really have any excuses for not working on this sooner. I had time, certainly. I've titled this 'Chapter I Was Too Lazy to Work On Before' in my Document Manager. I just wasn't motivated enough to work on this, so I worked on a Bleach fanfiction of mine. If any of you are curious (you can tell I'm desperate for reviews), it's titled "Masks Hiding Masks." _

_Oh, and just warning you: This is a very introspective chapter. Most of it's Morgan's thoughts._

_Song for the chapter: "End of Me" by Ashes Remain. Again, a choice that makes more sense if you listen to it._

**-I am a line break, beginning the long-awaited story-**

Training, training, and more training. That's pretty much all my life has been for the past three days. Shrike and Sensei have been quite literally beating new techniques into me until I learn them forwards and backwards. Not that it's all been like that- the League of Shadows knows that you can't just break a useful tool and expect to put it together again better than before. Calculator and some other less martially-oriented Shadows have been enlisted to teach me how to infiltrate a building, how to move silently, how to lie and disguise myself and leave no traces.

Thieves' arts, assassins' arts, ones that I would have been disgusted to learn five years ago. Now? They're just tools I can use to find Kaldur. That's all my life's become, finding Kaldur. Getting stronger to find him. No, to prove to everyone, him and myself included, that I can be strong, that I can find him. That I'm not just some pathetic weakling who gives up on her goals, one that everyone abandons because she's worthless.

I'm not worthless. So I'll learn these skills and soak my hands in blood, and he'll have to love me back. He'll have to understand me and protect me like I've done my best to protect him.

Already diving off the slippery slope? Maybe. But this is all I have to live for. My title's gone thanks to Orin, my family and my whole society must hate me if they've been told, the Justice League will treat me as an enemy when I resurface, or at least never trust me, and my whole combat's been dead for years. _I've_ been dead for years, just too focused on bringing Kaldur back to lay down and realize it.

Che. I can't be letting idiotic angst get to me right now. I need to be as cold as the stars above that lend me my name.

_Morgan'auli. _Each Atlantean child has a name scried for them at birth, one that's supposed to reflect a bit of them. When I say that, I don't mean that a name decides your fate, or perfectly fits you, or that it decides who you have to be. It just reflects an aspect of who the named person is without outside interference. You could say it shows a little bit of your soul to the world. We don't have surnames, either. Each name is somewhat unique to the person to whom it's given. Since there aren't many Atlanteans compared to surface-worlders, we tend not to share names. The fact that Atlanteans describe themselves as being 'of' wherever they consider home helps when recording history. We can't expect names not to _ever _repeat, after all. They just tend not to repeat in a given generation.

Names change sometimes, of course. If a person changes drastically, they might decide to take a new name, or others might record them and call them by another name. Occasionally, if said person can't find the right name to reflect the change, they'll have it scried again.

My name is Morgan'auli. Mor-gahn-ay-oo-lee, with a tiny but noticeable pause reflected by the apostrophe in English. It's something of a way to show that my name isn't said with a 'na' sound. That would be Morga'nauli, which has a decidedly different meaning referring to shark fins in the sea and stars. My name means 'circle of the sea and stars' literally, but it's closer to an idiom, referring to the shine of stars on the ocean and the place where sky and sea meet.

Kaldur's name refers to his father. His adoptive one, I suppose, as the Shadows have indeed confirmed that his biological father is Black Manta. Calvin Durham used to work for Black Manta as a modified surface-worlder before falling in love with Sha'lain'a and betraying his boss to Orin. The reverse of what I've done, ironically. In any event, Kaldur's name was intended to reflect his father's influence on him. Maybe it wasn't even scried, but instead chosen to try to bind him further to Orin's cause and distance him from Black Manta.

Maybe I'll change my own name. My family doesn't deserve to have my deeds, however necessary, associated with them. I don't know what name would fit me better, though. Perhaps I'll let myself be nameless like the Lackeys. Shrike said I should do that anyway, but it's hard to relinquish something that's identified you all your life so easily.

So from now on, I won't be Morgan'auli. I'll be me, the sum of my experiences, everything I've ever done and everyone I've ever been. No name attached until I can settle on one that fits better.

Now I'm kneeling in front of Ra's al-Ghul, or, as I'm required to refer to him, the Great One. I no longer wear the Aquagirl uniform, which lies folded in the austerely decorated room assigned to me. Instead, a dark grey suit of some very durable material covers my body, high-collared, long-sleeved, and thoroughly form-fitting. Nothing is wasted in the design. No fancy frills or eye-catching patterns.

It's humbling, in a way. I don't stand out much here. It isn't that I'm unknown in the Shadows; information is the lifeblood of these people, and I wouldn't be surprised if my presence and purpose was known to all of them, since it's not a mission that would be endangered greatly by information leaks within the Shadows. But no one sees the uniform and automatically puts me in a role I don't want to fulfill like they did when I was acting the part of Aquagirl. I don't have people lauding me as a hero, either, or acting as if I'm a key member of the Shadows. I'm not, and I know it, and I know that I was never a key member of the Justice League's team of teenage prodigies.

I hated the way they pretended I was anything close to important, even when I knew they hadn't seen enough of my power to say that. I showed them a weak, pathetic doormat who had earned no respect at all and they still acted as if I was just as special and valuable as any other hero. Oh, I knew that they were lying surface-worlders, but I expected them to at least treat me the way they thought I deserved. I want to work for honest trust and respect, not have it just handed to me. Idiots, they got what they deserved when I took my leave.

Do they even have a name? A way to refer to themselves and mark their identities? Not of the Justice League, but still heroes. Not adults, but not children either. Future Justice League members who haven't been judged worthy yet. Younger Leaguers. Young Justice. Sounds fitting, if a little bit cliched, like the kind of thing someone would give a TV show to make it sound dramatic and important and attention-grabbing. But now that I've named it, I'll be able to send spells that target the group as a whole if I need to.

My magic works through words, through describing and naming and tying things to my mind and my power in a way that pictures and potions and such have never been able to do. So-called true names aren't always necessary. In old, powerful magics, you need true names. It's an ancient way of thinking, so to work with ancient beings, you have to use that system. But with unnamed entities, or young ones- anything that doesn't already have a system of magic tied to its nature, basically, with a few exceptions- you can attach your own names to them or use other systems. By naming Young Justice, I can make my spells stronger and more accurate against them.

But back to Ra's al-Ghul, that sea snake of a man. He stands above me in elegant, yet not quite impractical robes. I wish my parents could've taken a few lessons from him on style when they kept making me wear beautiful clothes that weren't actually practical to formal functions. Not quite beautiful, since I wasn't supposed to get above my station as a not-even-graduated Conservatory student, but as nice as I was allowed to be.

"Well, young one, you've progressed under the League of Shadows' tutelage. Not, of course, that you needed much." I honestly can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not. Maybe just insincere. "I am satisfied that you will no longer embarrass us. You may even impress us enough to take on more assignments after this one has been completed."

He pauses, and I know I'm expected to give him my thanks. It makes me a bit irritated-I don't want to continue forced politeness- but I do it anyway. "My thanks for the praise, Great One." I reply in the difficult-to-read tone that I've been taught to use always.

"Of course." Ra's says smoothly. I would say that he purred, but the leader of the Shadows lacks a feline manner of doing things, and the sultry affection that the word 'purr' implies when used for a human. Eww. The thought of Ra's acting affectionate is disgusting.

"Now that you've demonstrated your capabilities and been instructed in the basic arts of stealth, the League of Shadows has decided that you may be given a suit more appropriate for your role as a guard. You'll even be allowed to customize it to an extent, as you know your own body best." His lips curl in what's technically a smile, but wouldn't be termed such by any person. "Choose a name, too. People need something to refer to you by, and we need a name to...remember you by." Meaning a name that they can record me with and later pull up everything they know about me with if someone comes asking around with a sufficient price for the information.

"Acknowledged, Great One." I murmur. Well, this new uniform will have to look better than my Aquagirl one, anyway. I'll see to that.

**-I am a line break, changing the scene-**

I stand alone on the dock of an island off of Taiwan, one of the League of Shadows's many outposts. Apparently the one I've been staying and training at, too. Nice to finally know something about where I am after a good four or so days spent here.

The outfit I chose is modeled off my Aquagirl uniform visually. Not as a message or anything. I'm just not very creative when it comes to such things. At least it's more durable.

This one, though, is a dark grey that isn't quite black, to avoid that cliche. In place of the smooth black stripes above my ribs are jagged-edged crimson ones that aren't quite light enough to be called regular red. Actual black, though still lighter than jet, is the color of the armored leggings. Crimson-accented boots and long sleeves make it a bit more practical, to my eternal pleasure. I am _not _dying in the future because my past self thought something would look cool. As some of my magic, particularly the spells that involve water and air, require skin contact, my hands and neck are bare. My braids are in a ponytail beneath a helmet that covers most of my nose and parts around my ears. Luckily, it doesn't block my peripheral vision, which I can testify is life-saving at times.

Alright, let's come back from completely unnecessary and vain descriptions of my clothing to what's actually going on around me.

I'm a few minutes early, so there's no chance of awkwardly showing up late to the part where Psimon's current keepers pick me up. Yes, I really worry about that sort of thing. There's a degree of professionalism that I'm expected to have, and I'll sprout wings and sing like a whale before .

Finally an inky black vehicle- that's the only way to describe it, as a vehicle- surfaces. Cold adrenaline floods my veins, sending the hair on the back of my neck standing up. It's shaped like a stylized manta ray. Black Manta's underwater base of operations, but anyone with half a brain would know that.

But I don't care that Psimon's aboard Black Manta's 'Manta Flyer.' I care that _Kaldur _is aboard. He has to be, doesn't he? Or maybe not. I frown mentally at this possible complication. It's perfectly possible that Black Manta's assigned him to oversee operations elsewhere. If my luck holds out...

A ramp opens onto the dock, wet metal scraping on wet metal to make a horribly high-pitched sound. Living underwater requires you to have better hearing to a certain degree, though the effect isn't quite as pronounced above water. Unfortunately, it's a nasty sound whether your hearing is above baseline-human standard or not, so I just get an extra bit of pain. It takes the training of the Shadows, Atlantean culture, and my own willpower combined to prevent me from instinctively plugging my ears.

Oh, believe me, it's the kind of sound that would have a lesser person wincing and otherwise reacting embarrassingly. So don't start saying I'm just weak-willed or overly sensitive.

Six people walk down the ramp. Four are visored, weapon-toting figures in black and red- I presume they're male, but one never knows. The other two...

One is a woman in a burnt orange costume clearly styled to look like a tiger, particularly the mask, which has a nose-like spot of an indeterminate dark color and a stripe on each cheek. A topaz choker hangs at her neck, partially covered by black hair that frames a sharp, pale face. Dark grey and more of the indeterminate dark color- I can't tell if it's black or brown in this light- accent the rest of the costume. What catches my eye most is the sheer preparation she's demonstrated. Pouches no doubt filled with poisons, throwing weapons, and probably a handgun or two adorn her body in addition to a sword and crossbow, the latter held in her right hand.

Tigress, obviously. And her companion is a taller man in black, red lights that are clearly connected to some sort of technology glowing dimly on his shoulders and waist. A rather unwieldy-looking helmet hides his face, bright red 'eyes' standing out amid its black and grey color scheme. For the sake of the wearer, I hope it's made of a lightweight material.

I turn from my position halfway facing the Manta Flyer- it makes me a smaller target should someone else arrive and looks cool at the same time- to face the pair, who are clearly leading our interactions.

"You'll forgive me if I ask that your companion removes his helmet," I say, looking directly at Tigress. "I'd rather know if I'm meeting Black Manta himself- though I doubt it- or his lieutenant." That, and I badly want to see Kaldur's face again. I'll rip that hunk of metal off his head if I need to.

"Take yours off first." Tigress's voice is tense, maybe on the deep side, a faintly raspy edge clinging to her words. "We're the ones in a position to be making demands, after all."

She has a point. I reach up and slip off the helmet, feeling cool, moist air rush over my face and scalp as I do so. "Happy?" I ask, though it's hardly a question. Tigress's mask might hide most of her facial expressions, but it isn't hard to tell that she isn't happy at all.

Grey eyes widen just a fraction, narrowing back to their normal width a second later. But if I've learned one thing in my time with the League of Shadows, it's how to notice little changes like that. With a group of people who are all trained to mask their emotions- sometimes literally masked- you kinda have to learn how to read body language quickly, or, if you know a bit already as I did, learn how to read it far better.

I don't know Tigress. She clearly isn't Atlantean or a modified human, and isn't wearing anything that would compensate for her lack of ability to breathe water, which means she's very, very skilled and probably hand-picked. I don't know anyone with that level of skill who's female, black-haired, and an ordinary human, but her reaction means that she knows me, or knows of me. Which doesn't make much sense, because I'm not important enough for her to know me prior to my joining of the Shadows and have such a reaction upon meeting me. Just knowing of me wouldn't cause such a slip in her self-control, not unless something about me has a very personal connection to her.

Sure, Kaldur probably remembers me. But unless he and Tigress have a rather close relationship, there's no reason for him to mention the point where our lives intersected for a while. It just wouldn't be a factor that Black Manta and his followers would need to know for their plans. So either Kaldur is courting Tigress and felt the need to tell her that detail from his past, which makes my blood boil, or something else is going on.

The man beside Tigress reaches up and removes his own helmet, displaying a face that makes me tighten my self-control even as something inside me relaxes.

Kaldur'ahm's pale green-blue eyes look at me levelly, assessing every bit of me. Hopefully he sees the years of training I've put myself through, all the blood and tears, all the broken bones and mana exhaustion, every lie I've told to become this strong.

"The League of Shadows did not see fit to escort you to this meeting point?" He asks, voice just as rich and calming as I remember.

I force back the part of me that wants to hug him and babble affectionately about how much I've missed him in favor of preserving my image. What that image has become, I have no idea. "If the Shadows have sent others beyond me, we both know that you would never see them. I need no escort, as it happens." My voice is calmer than I expected, though my mouth is dry.

A hint of a smile, likely false, graces his lips. "True." Whether he's referring to my first or second statement is beyond my comprehension. I don't particularly care, despite the fact that I'm hanging on his every word. "Your name?"

I hesitate for a second as it occurs to me that I never chose a name. What do I say? He already knows my birth name, and probably what it means, so making something up based off of that would sound stupid. Finally something comes to me as I look at the manta ray-shaped vehicle that brought them here.

My expression is as flat as my chest as I answer the question.

"Devil Ray."

**-I am a line break, ending the story-**

_Well, that was...actually, I don't have any comment to make regarding the chapter itself. Just that I, the person who came up with Morgan, feel as if I wrote her out of character. It's a bit of me basing her off myself a little, since I tend to make the same observations in serious situations while still behaving normally. I swear this isn't a self-insert, I really do._

_For the record, Morgan isn't flat-chested exactly, but she does use bandages to compensate for a lack of surface-world-style...underwear (I'm squeamish, can't you tell?) while handily having a store of bandages on her if she needs to bind a wound. Some of the bandages have spells sewn into them in Atlantean._


	29. Preview

_Here's a little preview of the next chapter!_

My guard duty is in the infirmary, but I'm allowed to stretch my legs and train and such. Which is why I'm staring at a steaming pitcher of something right now, absolutely baffled. A bunch of other people are here, so I followed them in an attempt to get to know the people I'll be spending quite some time with, or at least observe them. They've been taking foam cups and pouring some of the brown liquid into the cups.

I'm not so stupid as to not know that it's a drink. But it's one that could have unforeseen side effects on my body, and frankly, I'm not sure what it is. Smells like hazelnuts, like the stale cookies someone brought into school for lunch once when they couldn't find anything else. Desperate kid, but he got a normal lunch in the end thanks to some helpful donations from our classmates. I wonder how they're all doing...

Doesn't matter much now, I guess. I have to focus on the situation at hand: puzzling out the nature of the beverage in front of me.

'You gonna get some coffee, kid?" A man asks from beside me, frowning.

"Coffee?" I turn to him, blinking owlishly, before I remember to keep the icy, dispassionate pretense up. _Not too much longer, Shugan'syaithan. _

I've begun addressing myself by that name, a rough translation of my alias, Devil Ray, into Atlantean. It's a bit of a mouthful, and sometimes I slip and call myself Morgan'auli again because of the shared second syllable. But it helps sometimes, to disassociate myself from everything. Not everything, exactly, just the stuff that hurts.

"Yeah, coffee. The magic brew that you chug down no matter how bad it is because it keeps you awake?" He snorts, rubbing a tanned neck where gills flutter weakly. Somehow the motion doesn't seem natural, though, and I have the sneaking suspicion that he's a gene freak, as the saying goes. Someone not born with powers or part-alien or whatever, but instead tinkered with by people like Cadmus. There're quite a few of them in the Shadows' ranks.

"I don't need coffee to stay awake, unlike some." I shoot a cool gaze at him. "Just came to see what the fuss was all about. Should I know you?"

"Jared Adedemola. Should I know you, weirdly dressed girl? Hold that thought." My new acquaintance goes to pour himself a brimming cup of coffee and slowly makes his way back over to me, only dripping a little bit on himself. "Hazelnut's the preferred flavor around here. I don't like it much, but it's coffee. The caffeine beast needs feeding. So, answer?"

I'm more than a bit perplexed by the friendly-ish demeanor he's exuding. I guess not every person who works for Black Manta is a complete _si'nac. _And of course the girl who's trying to harden herself to things gets to meet one of them. Of course the Fates want that for me.

"Devil Ray. The League of Shadows sent me to guard Psimon. Telepaths who are...like him are hard to find." They sent me only after they'd gotten as much information about Atlantis and its inner workings as they can, but I'll take what I can get.

The grimace on Jared's face tells me he agrees. "Thank God. I've done some stuff I never imagined doing here, but that guy gives me the creeps. He's a Shadow too, isn't he?"

I lift my shoulders in a light shrug, keeping my face nearly expressionless. "Not my business. I take the job and get it done. No questions asked."

A dark eyebrow raises. "Who shoved an icicle up your ass? I haven't heard that kind of stuff since I was a kid watching spy movies. I understand doing things for money, kinda, but not carin' what they are is stupid. Especially from a kid who's young enough to be my daughter."

"I'm 17. Going on 18." I snap with more emotion than I mean to. "And you're a hypocrite, aren't you? You look too soft to really believe in Black Manta's ideals."

Jared looks at me askance. "Seriously? Huh. Not much younger than Kal. But don't call me a hypocrite just yet. I've got my reasons for working here. Notably these." He pokes his neck and winces. "Get desperate enough, start doing a few things for cash, get some stuff done to you and try to go back only to realize you can't, and you'll stick with the people who're fine with pretty much anything."

Kal... Kaldur? With a name longer than most surface-worlders are used to, it wouldn't be a surprise if they nicknamed him. "Che. The best way to beat prejudice is to show your strength in the face of it. If some of the bigots are too weak to stand against you, then that's just unfortunate."

He frowns, taking a long gulp of sickeningly-scented coffee. "I don't think a teenage girl knows much about that."

"A teenage girl doesn't. I do." I say absently.


End file.
